Alone
by layhee
Summary: One ship, one impact, one lifepod. One blue sun, one desert planet, three survivors. MarcusIvanova.
1. Chapter 1

Of course he'd never tell her, but there were times she reminded him of Vir. It was an odd comparison, he admitted, studying her as she stared straight off into the distance. She was so strong, so determined, but then someone would say something unexpected and she'd flash from surprise to annoyance to embarrassment to anger to he didn't know what, and it just looked so much like Vir that it brought a smile to his face every time. Of course, he'd never let her see him at it.

He was by the weapon's console, Lennier's usual post. The Minbari had been called away at the last minute to help Delenn with something or other and Marcus had been drafted in to fill his place. Not that he had any problem with the assignment, obviously; he got to be near Susan and, if the Universe permitted, talk to her. Though, at the rate things were going so far, it looked as though the Universe might not permit, and he'd resigned himself to silence for the few hours remaining until he'd have to forcibly remove her from her post to get some sleep.

When he moved around the command deck to face her, mouth open and about to insist on relieving her of duty, she beat him to it. She knew the drill. She'd protest, he'd press bravely on, she'd threaten lengthy suffering, he'd continue to press bravely on, she'd give him The Look, he'd give her a chipper smile and say it one more time, and she'd relent.

She didn't disappoint, and in record time he had her pushing herself up out of the command chair. He watched her walk stiffly out the door and settled into the chair in her stead with a satisfied smile.

In a heartbeat the world turned upside-down. Marcus felt his back and head hit the ceiling as the ship bucked, the artificial gravity lagging behind the unknown disaster. He landed hard on the arm of the chair, feeling something in his torso crunch painfully. There was fire, fire all around, and screaming. A siren blared in his ears.

Desperately, he picked himself up called out for anyone who might still be at their post. When there was no answer, he called out for anyone who was still conscious, but the screams had stopped in a strangled moan and there were only the sounds of the White Star groaning and protesting whatever punishment had just befallen it. He stared around at the command deck, or whatever was left of it. Metal beams had fallen from their places, bringing down tangles of sparking wires that set fire to whatever they touched. There were bloodied bodies under the debris, and Marcus turned away, forcing himself to move onto to finding the living. Nothing could be done for the dead but pray, and there was neither time nor space for that on a sinking ship.

_Susan_. Her name rang out in his mind, shooting instantly to the top of his priorities. He had to find Susan. He would find other survivors on the way, and they would get to the escape pods. With any luck, whoever had attacked them would not notice.

The scene in the hall was the same as on the command deck. Marcus jogged quickly, eyes wide and searching. His chest hurt with every breath, like a blunt knife jabbing into his lungs, but he pushed it aside as his mind replaced the battered and lifeless face of a crewmember with that of Susan and kept running.

He had just turned the corner when he saw her. She was lying on her back, draped awkwardly over a fallen beam as if she'd been thrown as high as he'd been. Blood from a cut on her temple had soaked her hair and shoulder, covering one of her closed eyes and running a deathly trail to the corner of her mouth and down her neck. He scooped her up without a second thought and ran with her.

The escape pods weren't far, and in the bay he found several other survivors helping wounded comrades into pods. He laid her down inside a vacant one and reached back to shut the door.

"Wait!"

Marcus looked up to see a young Minbari crewmember running toward him. He held the door open and let her duck inside, then slammed the hatch shut. Squeezing his way back to the front of the pod, he strapped Susan into a chair and looked back at the crewman. "Sit here and secure yourself," he instructed, "The White Star's systems will release us in ten seconds."

The Minbari nodded, pale eyes wide, and scrambled into the second chair. Marcus wedged himself in between the two chairs, holding onto whatever he could grab, and whispered a quiet prayer.

The unlocking of the bay doors was a muffled bang inside the pod, and for a moment the three people inside were pressed back by the acceleration. Marcus was crushed against the wall, his injured rib protesting vehemently, and struggled to hold on. The pods were built for two and two only, with as many seats and rations to suit.

The hull was groaning in protest to something, and there was a dull thud. _Asteroid_? Marcus wondered distantly, until the pod pitched again and his head slammed into the back of Susan's seat. His world went dark.

* * *

The crack of light afforded by the gap between his eyelids was torture. He squeezed them shut again, but even then it was still too bright. Giving himself a second or two to adjust at least a little, he opened his eyes all the way and pushed himself up with a stifled moan. His rib stabbed at him painfully, reminding him of what had just happened.

At least, he hoped it had just happened. Looking around at the yellowish desert stretching to the horizon in all directions, he could've been out for hours, days even. There was a smoking hole in the ground a ways off, probably the remains of the life pod, and he thanked Valen he hadn't been in it. _How_, exactly, he'd managed that feat was beyond him.

His burning eyes fell on a dark lump lying on the ground about fifteen metres off. He staggered to his feet and over to it, finding it to be a human form in a tattered black uniform. Dread knotting his stomach, he knelt beside it to turn it over by its shoulder and found himself looking at Susan's face. The blood that had trickled over her face last time he'd seen her was smudged and blotted away by dust, but she was still unconscious or worse. Gently, he tapped her cheek to wake her. "Susan," he called quietly, trying not to breathe too deeply. "Susan."

Her brows twitched and then furrowed and he grabbed at a scrubby piece of grass to stop himself from jumping for joy. She was alive. She gave a breathy moan and pried her eyes open, bringing a hand up to shield them from the blazing sun. "Marcus?" she questioned.

Grinning broadly, he nodded. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"My head hurts," she murmured, struggling to sit up. She groaned. "Back, too."

"You took a bit of a fall," he told her. _Now _that's _an understatement_, his mind quipped, _more like 'you were dropped several metres onto a steel beam when our ship was devastatingly attacked'. _"Anything feel broken?"

She frowned for a moment then shook her head. "How about you?"

He smiled faintly and lied, "Nope. I seem to have escaped unscathed."

A muffled cry from somewhere nearby brought their attention back to their surroundings. Both heads turned towards the smoking hole of the lifepod, and Marcus stood to help Susan to her feet.

"Was there anyone in there with us?" she asked.

Marcus nodded grimly and headed for it at a brisk walk. He stopped at the edge of the hole and looked down. The lifepod had been torn open and now lay in a crumpled heap. Sticking out from under a folded piece of hull was an arm, covered in dirty white fabric. Before he could stop her, Susan was running down the steep incline towards the wreck. He followed a step behind, praying quickly to Valen that she wouldn't be hurt.

Another cry issued from beneath the metal, and together they pried the sheet up and away. The young Minbari who'd joined their crew at the last minute stared up at them with panicked, pain-filled eyes. "Help," she pleaded weakly, "My leg—"

Marcus's gaze travelled down until the crewman's body vanished beneath what was left of the pod's control panel. It had been rent downward by the weight of the collapsed hull and now was digging into the poor woman's leg. "We'll get it off you," Marcus told her in Adronato, "but we need you to get out of the way as soon as we do. Can you do it?"

"Y—yes," the woman nodded, and Marcus and Susan grabbed the tortured metal and pulled it straight up. The Minbari yelled but hauled herself back, away from the danger. They dropped the heavy panel as soon as she was out of the way.

Marcus knelt to assess the damage to the woman's leg, then stood and turned to Susan. "It's badly broken in several places," he told her quietly, "but I think we can set it. We need to get her out here first, though."

She nodded her agreement. Even her untrained eyes could see the unnatural positioning of the Minbari's bones, and she shrank away from the idea of trying to set them right. She steeled herself as Marcus explained the plan to the crewman and did her part to carry her out of the deep hole and onto the sandy ground.

"Susan," Marcus looked up at her from where he was kneeling beside the Minbari, "see if you can find any supplies in the pod. We need some sort of anaesthetic."

She disappeared back into the hole and Marcus turned his attention to the wounded girl before him. She had her eyes closed and her lips moved in a silent meditation chant, but her breathing was fast and irregular. "You'll be alright," Marcus promised her. She opened her eyes just enough to see him. "Susan's gone to find a painkiller, and then we'll set your leg. You'll be alright." She didn't reply. "What's your name?" Marcus asked.

"Marenn of Tathell," she whispered hoarsely. "Yours?"

"Marcus Cole."

"Do you—do you know what happened to the White Star?" she asked.

"No," he admitted. "I think we were attacked. By what, I—"

"Here." Susan had returned, holding a small white bottle.

Marcus took it and scanned the label, then opened it and gave three of the tablets to Marenn. "Take these," he instructed. She took them in a shaking hand and slipped them into her mouth. Within seconds, she was unconscious.

"Jeez," Susan muttered. "How strong were those? My Minbari failed me after the main label."

"Strong," Marcus replied casually, setting the bottle aside. "A human would be unconscious after one." He looked up at her. "Have you ever set a bone before?"

"Once," she told him uncertainly, "but only as an assistant, and it was a long time ago. I probably shouldn't—"

"Then you can help me with this one," he said firmly, taking her hands in his to place them where he wanted them. "Hold here and keep this part still."

When it was done, Susan fought back the wave of nausea that washed over her and sat down in the dirt a safe distance from the injured woman. They'd put her bones back into their proper places and lashed them there with strips of Marcus's cloak and pieces of metal from the lifepod. Marcus settled beside her.

"How are you?" he asked.

She glanced up at him and then returned her gaze out to the desolate landscape. Waves of heat blurred the horizon and the jagged peaks of the faraway hills, and the low blue sun beat mercilessly on her back. "Hot," she replied irritably. "We should build a shelter."

"It'll be dark soon," he said, nodding his agreement, "Desert nights are cold."

Neither of them moved. After a moment, Susan sighed and slowly got to her feet. "Let's get it over with."

* * *

They built it out of the pieces of the lifepod that were either already loose or could be pried off, jamming them into the scorched ground and then wedging several longer pieces overhead for a roof. By the time they'd finished, the sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving them in the plentiful light of the planet's three moons.

They moved Marenn into the shelter and made certain that she would be as comfortable as possible when she awoke, then returned to the lifepod and rummaged through the wrecked cabinets for any food or other supplies that might still be useable. There were several days' worth of survival rations and a roll of cloth bandages, along with four large, durable water canteens. They brought them all back to the shelter and took painfully restrained sips from the canteens and split one ration pack between them, leaving a third of it for Marenn.

Marcus vanished for a minute to relieve himself and Susan seated herself in front of the shelter, sore back up against a large rock, gazing out at the unfamiliar sky. It was a lot like Earth's desert, she reminisced. She could recall being dragged, quite literally kicking and screaming, to one for a camping trip, and the experience had stuck in her head as being one of the worst of her life. It had been miserably hot during the day and near freezing at night, the dust had gotten absolutely _everywhere_, and she hadn't been allowed to bring her computer to play games. No, instead she'd had to help gather firewood and set up tents, cook barely-edible pre-packaged food and sing campfire songs. She hadn't been camping since, and that was something she'd never regretted, not for a second.

When he returned, Marcus was carrying a bundle of twisted, dry branches. He dropped them in pile near her and sat down in front of them, producing two small greyish rocks from his pocket. Susan watched as he banged them together with hard, glancing blows that sprayed little fountains of sparks. At last, one caught the edge of a shrivelled leaf and ignited, the entire stack of wood soon catching. She shifted a little closer to the welcome heat, pulling her battered jacket tightly around herself.

"It won't last long," he said regretfully, "but we should try to conserve the wood."

"Is there much more?" she inquired. From the look of the place, the answer would be no, but it was worth asking.

Marcus shook his head, watching the fire pensively. A moment later, he shifted, trying to find a comfortable way to sit on the hard earth, and Susan caught the flash of pain on his face before he could hide it.

"You're hurt," she stated disapprovingly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's nothing," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm fine."

"Let me see it," she ordered, scuttling around the fire to where he was sitting. He stared at her. "Last time you told me you were fine you had three shattered fingers and a sprained wrist. So, let me see it, and I'll be the judge of how fine you are."

"Really, Susan," he protested, "It's just a little bruise I picked up during the attack."

She gave him her Look and he sighed slightly. Carefully undoing the fasteners on his uniform, he pulled it back enough to expose the side of his chest. It was out of his range of sight, but by the sharp intake of breath from Susan he guessed it was bad. She touched it lightly with one finger and he gasped despite himself.

"Marcus!" she hissed angrily. "Even I can see that that rib is broken, or fractured at the very least! Why didn't you say anything? What if it shifted and punctured your lung? We can't deal with that sort of injury here! You would die!"

He had the decency to look shame-faced. "I didn't want to worry you," he admitted softly.

She rocked back on her heels and fixed him with a stony glare, letting her breath out in a long whoosh. "Idiot," she muttered, scratching distractedly at the crusty blood on her face.

"We had much more important things to worry about," he pointed out.

Susan ignored him and stared at the wound. It was a swollen purple splotch on his otherwise scrawny torso, the inflammation stretching the scars there to odd proportions. Her eyes wandered up his chest before she realized what she was doing and snapped them back down to where they should be. "Does it feel like it's dislocated?" she asked.

"Rather hard to tell," he replied, taking a measured breath to test how far he could expand his ribcage. Feeling the now-familiar stab of pain, he exhaled slowly. _Hurts no matter what I do._ He chuckled and regretted it.

"Is there anything we can do?" Hearing the concern in her own voice, she coughed and fixed her face back into a stern look. "Painkiller, maybe?"

"No, and no," he quipped, forcing his normally effortless cheer. "It'll heal. Besides, we'll be rescued before we need to trouble ourselves with it too much."

"No one knows where we are," she muttered pessimistically.

"Of course they do," he lied, badly.

She accepted it without struggle – it was easier to swallow than the truth. She raised her head, looking out at the universe. "We'll be rescued soon."


	2. Chapter 2

They were not rescued soon. Days passed, slurring together in a haze of heat, thirst, and hunger. Marenn's leg grew worse, filling with pus and liquid and turning sickly grey and black. She slipped in and out of consciousness as the infection began to spread. Susan and Marcus looked on helplessly.

Well into what might have been their third week on the planet Ivanova had aptly christened 'Hell', they saw dark clouds gathering in the distance. There was a mad flurry of action as they scavenged bits of debris from the lifepod to use as water catchers in the event of rain. As dusk approached, the clouds opened up and the desert became a lake.

Marenn was aware of the water in a feverishly delirious way as it trickled along the ground beside her. Susan and Marcus threw themselves into the rapidly filling hole with the lifepod, wading in the warm water to its deepest point, splashing it over their filthy bodies, washing away layers upon layers of sweat and dirt. Susan stripped what remained of her uniform off down to her underwear without a second thought and did her best to clean it as well as herself. She hardly noticed Marcus's surprised eyes on her.

When she'd gotten her uniform as clean as it would get, she wrung it out and draped it over an unsubmerged part of the lifepod, and sunk up to her shoulders to watch Marcus out of the corner of her eye under the guise of washing her hair. He had turned away from her to remove his own clothes and rinse them, and for several long moments, she afforded herself the purely feminine pleasure of letting her eyes roam across his shoulders and down his back, lower…

He turned around and she jerked, startled and embarrassed to be caught staring. "See something you like?" he quipped. Her jaw dropped. The bold little—

She heaved an armful of water at his face, laughing as he staggered backwards in astonishment and fell over. He surfaced a second later, spluttering and wiping his hair back from his face. Their eyes met in the darkness and a slow grin spread across his face. "You're on."

The wave that came back at her was high enough to splash right over her head, but she lost no time in returning fire. The battle went back and forth, neither side gaining or losing ground. "Is that the best you can do?" Marcus taunted, jumping back to dodge a new spray of flying water.

Susan glared daggers at him and he wondered if baiting her might've been a bad idea for the brief moment he had before she launched herself at him. She caught him about the middle and they tumbled backwards into the shallower water by the side of the pit, a thrashing mass of limbs and water.

More by accident than design, he jabbed several fingers into her side. She arched away from him immediately, letting out a surprised shriek, a sound he hadn't thought her capable of. Their eyes met again and she shook her head slowly, backing away, "Oh, no nononono… don't even _think_—"

He dove forward and tickled her again with a wicked laugh. She writhed, trying desperately to get away from his seeking fingers. Suddenly, Marcus gave a cry of pain and stopped his assault.

Realizing one of her flailing arms must've hit his injured rib, her stomach twinged with guilt. "Are you alright?" she asked, genuinely concerned. If she'd made it worse, or undid however much had managed to heal… "Marcus? You okay? Marcus?"

"Yeah," he grunted, examining the wound with one hand. "I guess it's not quite better yet." He offered her a strained smile.

"It's my fault," she said, "I should've been more careful." She watched him as he probed the almost-faded bruise, and remembered with a deep-seated rush of heat that neither of them were clad in anything more than their underwear. She hastily took her hands off his upper arms, where they'd seemingly set themselves out of concern, and he looked up at her quizzically. "I…"

He appeared to realize what was on her mind and she had to give him credit as his eyes flitted downwards from her face. _So, not so innocent after all…_ She cleared her throat. "I should go check on the rain catchers."

* * *

It was impossible to sleep. Inside the shelter, the noise of the rain on the metal roof was deafening. Outside, the night was cold and the water had chilled the ground, taking away their usual source of heat. They huddled in their freshly washed clothes, soaked to the bone and shivering, all night long, while Marenn, somehow, slept more peacefully than she had in days.

The rain stopped just before dawn, and when the clouds cleared, the sun was several inches above the horizon. The temperature slowly began to climb, bringing welcome relief to the damp, chilled castaways. As the day moved on, flowers and small, leafy plants sprung up from beneath rocks and shrivelled cacti swelled promisingly. Somewhere nearby, a bird chirped. Marcus wished for a gun.

Susan staggered to her feet and vanished briefly behind the shelter to visit the small latrine they'd dug out by an old, dead tree with an aptly bent branch. When she returned, Marcus held out a piece of fleshy cactus. She eyed it dubiously. "Really, it's good," he assured her, chewing a piece himself. "Quite mild, with a lovely tang of citrus, and—oh, _my_! Do I detect a hint of saffron in the aftertaste…?"

Rolling her eyes, she took the bit of fruit from him and bit into it. Immediately, she spat it back into her hand. "Ugh!" she exclaimed, staring at him in horror, "How can you _eat_ that?"

He chuckled and popped another piece into his mouth. "Being a Ranger tends to widen one's taste in food," he explained, leaning in close as though telling a secret, "You should've been there to try these delightful larvae I found on Beta 526. Truly exquisite."

"I bet," she nodded doubtfully, eyeballing the half-chewed cactus in her hand. It had a high water content, and probably other nutrients as well… she really should eat it. So, squashing her taste buds down into a tiny corner of her mind where she couldn't hear their protests, she put the thing in her mouth and swallowed as quickly as possible.

Marcus laughed, "Not exactly bacon and eggs, but you'll get used to it."

She swatted his arm in annoyance and lowered herself onto the large rock. A minute or so later, while he munched contentedly away on the desert vegetation, she shielded her eyes to look up at him. "Thanks, Marcus," she said sincerely.

He met her eyes, not entirely sure what he was being thanked for. Then, too quickly for her to react, he ducked in to set a quick kiss on her cheek. "Not a problem," he quipped, jumping to his feet before her dumbfounded expression could transform into anything more menacing. "I'm going to go exploring."

She stared after him. "Exploring what?" she called belatedly. There couldn't possibly be anything else out there that they couldn't see from right here.

"Maybe there's an oasis," he called back optimistically.

She sighed in exasperation, unconsciously putting a hand to her cheek. The nerve…

There was a small scuffling sound from behind her and she turned. "Marenn?" she questioned, making a mental note to chew him out for it later. The Minbari murmured something unintelligible. Taking the piece of cactus Marcus had left, Susan crawled under the shelter and offered some of it to Marenn. "Here," she said, taking the young woman's hand and placing the piece in it. "It may not taste great, but Mama Marcus assures me it's good for you."

Marenn's pale eyes gazed listlessly at the food and Susan sighed softly. She gently took the bit of cactus back from the woman's hand and brought it up to her mouth. Tapping her own lips, she instructed, "Eat."

Marenn's mouth opened slightly and Susan pushed the cactus in, feeling ridiculously like a mother with a sick child. She helped her to sit up a bit while she chewed, being careful not to disturb her injured leg. When that piece had been swallowed, she tore another off from the main chunk and gave it to her as well, shifting her limp body to lean back against her own so that Marenn's head rested on her shoulder and Susan's right arm could reach around her side. It was reasonably comfortable, despite the extra body heat the contact created and the sharp edges of Marenn's bone crown digging into Susan's neck and shoulder.

Slowly, between the two of them, the piece of cactus shrunk. By the time Marcus returned, Susan was slipping the last tidbit past Marenn's lips. She looked up as Marcus' inquiring face appeared in the door of the shelter, peering in at them.

"Don't you two look delightful," he commented brightly, "Nurse Susan and her wonderful patient." He switched into Minbari, "How are you feeling today?"

At the sound of her own language, Marenn raised her eyes to find the speaker. Seeing only another human, she let them fall closed again. Susan and Marcus' gaze met. He beckoned her to join him outside. Gently, she eased herself out from under Marenn and crawled out of the shelter.

Standing, she came up beside Marcus, noting in full for, surprisingly, the first time that he'd abandoned his shirt. His skin, which had most likely once been pale, was burned and peeling on his shoulders and back and angry red across his chest. She winced sympathetically and was glad she'd made the decision to keep her shirt on.

"What is it?" she asked.

He pointed out towards the horizon. "There's a valley up there, about three miles away. It's dry right now, but there are plants, meaning—"

"Meaning water flows through it," she finished for him. "We should go."

He nodded slowly, almost regretfully. "Yes. But Marenn… we can't move her."

"Why not?" Susan demanded, glancing over her shoulder at the woman's unmoving form. "Just give her some more of those meds, she'd be unconscious. Besides, it's been what, three weeks now? It must've healed a bit, right?"

"Not really, no," he replied. "And it's infected, you know that. I'm no doctor, but my guess would be that if we move her, it'll be more likely to spread."

Susan ran a hand over her forehead, swiping away the sweat gathering there. "So what are we going to do? We don't know when the next rain's coming and our water isn't going to last long enough for her to heal. If she heals." It was added as a cruel afterthought, muttered and not meant to be spoken aloud.

Marcus rounded on her. "She _will_ heal," he hissed. "Or we'll be rescued." He took a deep breath and his voice returned to normal, "Either way, she'll be alright. She'll be alright."

Susan put a gentle hand on his sunburnt shoulder. "It's not your fault—"

"What's not my fault?" He jerked away, roughly shaking her off. "Nothing is not my fault! She'll be fine!" He turned his back on her, staring off into the distance as he struggled to collect himself. A moment later, he returned with a smile. "Sorry."


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't his fault.

They carried her body to the valley and buried it in the dry riverbed; shallowly, so that when the water came it would carry her away as per her clan's tradition. The funeral rites had to be performed by a female, so Marcus gave Susan her instructions and she set about following them. She removed Marenn's clothes and laid them out in the grave beneath her, and then folded her hands placidly between her breasts. She slipped a small flower into her fingers and tore a narrow piece of black cloth from her own uniform jacket to place over her open eyes. Then, smoothing the dusty sand overtop of her prepared form, she took three steps back and whispered the prayer she'd memorized.

When she'd finished she stood silently, staring at the mound of disturbed earth. A hand came up from behind her and set itself on her shoulder, returning the comfort she'd tried to offer him however many days ago. She winced slightly at the contact, wrapped her arms around herself, and shut the world away.

Dusk fell soon after, allowing them just enough time to transfer what few supplies they had left to the valley. They set up camp on the middle ground, not entirely out of the protection the valley offered from the wind and dust but not close enough to the riverbed so as to be washed away when the rain came. The new structure was arguably better than the last, its builders having had some practice with the materials and the act itself, and was large enough for them both to sleep without being uncomfortably close.

As the second moon climbed slowly above the horizon, Susan sat with her legs folded up to her chest, back resting against the short vertical edge of the valley. Resting her chin on arms wrapped around her knees, she watched the satellite's progress with vague disinterest. The ground sloped gently away from her feet, angling towards the flat riverbed several metres away, where Marenn's grave was just barely visible in the pale light.

A shiver ran over her bare arms and she wished for her jacket. It was lying in the shelter, she knew, balled up for use as a pillow. It wasn't really much good for anything else, torn and hole-filled as it was, but it would provide at least a little more warmth than just her tattered, once-white and once-sleeved blouse. Retrieving it, though, would mean moving, and moving would mean expending energy.

Footsteps crunched the soil behind her, and then Marcus hopped into the valley beside her, dropping down to sit. He held out a water canteen to her and she took it gratefully despite her mild annoyance at his interruption of her solitude. She sipped with painful control, being absolutely sure not to take more than her share.

"How much do we have left?" she asked, handing it back to him and running her tongue over her parched lips.

"We still have the other canteen," he told her, checking to make certain the cap was on tightly and setting it down in the sand next to him, "and some of the water we collected in the bent pieces of hull. A lot of that's evaporated, mind you." He sighed quietly. "And there's some cactus meat left."

"We should try to dig a well," Susan suggested.

"Yeah," he agreed, gazing down at the riverbed. Neither of them moved.

"Maybe in the morning."

"Yeah."

The silence stretched between them for long minutes. Susan shivered again despite herself and Marcus glanced over at her. "Do you want my cloak?" he offered.

"I'm fine," she replied. If he could sit there in only his trousers and not be cold, so could she, dammit.

He nodded acceptingly, and the silence returned. She stared down at Marenn's grave absently. "How're you doing?" he asked softly.

"Fine," she said shortly.

"Susan…" It was said kindly, but she could hear the warning in his voice. He knew better than to believe her when she got like this. "It's not easy to be there when someone dies—"

"I'm fine, alright?" she snapped. "Who asked you, anyway?"

Irritably, she pushed herself to her feet and headed down to the shelter. With more force than was necessary, she punched her makeshift pillow into a more comfortable shape and flopped down onto the ground, her back to the opening of the shelter. Closing her eyes, she fumed silently at Marcus' nosiness.

A while later, when she had calmed down somewhat and was trying to clear her mind for sleep, she heard Marcus approaching. He sat next to her and shifted around for half a minute, then lay down. His voice floated through the darkness to her in a whisper, "Susan?"

_I'm asleep, I'm asleep, I'm asleep…_

She heard him sigh softly. "Well, good night then."

He sounded _sad_, she realized. Deeply, soulfully sad, and something twinged inside her. Guilt, perhaps, at her rude treatment of him. She shut her eyes and tentatively opened her mind. Guilt, his this time, not hers, washed over her. It was overwhelming, even to her pitifully weak psi senses, and her breath caught in her throat. She was rolling over before she could stop herself. "Marcus?" her voice came out hoarse and she cleared her throat self-consciously.

He was lying on his back and looked over at her. "You're awake," he commented. She wondered if the strain in his voice was new, or if it'd always been there, unnoticed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He blinked. "For what?"

"For being such an ass to you," she chuckled self-deprecatingly.

"You weren't being an ass," he told her, smiling gently. He shifted onto his side to get her more comfortably into his field of view. "It wasn't my place to go prodding into your personal space."

She shrugged. "I just thought I should apologize… you know, no hard feelings or anything." Catching herself in the crime of being slightly sentimental, she amended, "I mean, we're stuck here after all; we have to manage to not kill each other, and now that we're alone—" Her throat closed up on the word and before she was quite aware of what was happening she was blinking rapidly against tears.

She rolled over hastily, hoping in vain that he hadn't noticed. She struggled to speak steadily and sound vaguely coherent. "Anyhow, I'm dead tired." She squeezed her eyes shut and cursed her choice of words. She faked a stifled yawn. "Night." She prayed he'd leave it at that.

He didn't of course, and though the feel of his hesitant hand on her arm made her eyes sting viciously, she feigned sleep with stoic, though perhaps stupid, resolve.

* * *

The morning sun streaked through the gaps in the shelter's lean-to roof, drawing Susan gradually from a deep, peaceful sleep. She stirred groggily and pushed herself up, looking around through bleary eyes. Marcus was nowhere to be seen, but the light outside looked distinctly grey. Her stomach leaping with hope, she crawled forward and stuck her head outside.

It was cloudy. She nearly wept with relief. Cloudy meant rainy, and rainy meant water. Pure, fresh, _water_, for the first time in weeks_._ Her gaze lingered on the promising sky, feeling a slight shiver run over her, and not entirely due to the cool air. The sun was a blurry bright patch overhead, filtering down to bathe the landscape in an eerie grey that seemed to suck away the colours. She rubbed her bare arms and reached for her jacket.

She'd abandoned the jacket long ago, but removing the sleeves of her blouse had been a more recent decision. It had bared her space-pale skin to the sun and she'd been burned a deep pink for several long, uncomfortable days. Thankfully, the itchy blisters had eventually faded into a sturdy tan, one that now looked a sickly shade of grey in the odd light, as had Marcus's. His burns had been much worse—the man had been so pale she wouldn't have been surprised in the least if he hadn't stepped outside in less than that turtle-necked robe since he joined the Rangers. Suddenly plunging all that sensitive skin into exposure from not just _a_ sun, but a hot, powerful, blue sun had to have been torture. For his sake, she was glad he'd healed.

For her sake, he was much nicer to look at without peeling flakes of dead skin all over him. It had been something of a shock to see him pull that cloak off the first time; she couldn't recall ever seeing him in anything else. Abruptly, she'd been presented with a skinny but muscled chest, and damned if she'd admit the rush of heat she'd felt at the realization that he really couldn't be called unattractive.

She shoved her thoughts away before they took her any further down a road she did _not_ want to follow and got to her feet. She headed for the rain catchers, pulling her jacket on as she walked. She found them already in position, propped up carefully with dirt, and sighed. Marcus must've done it. He did everything, it seemed.

She struggled a bit to shake off the useless feeling as she returned to the shelter and removed the cover on their food burrow. The lone piece of cactus lay forlornly at the bottom, shrivelled slightly and not terribly appetizing. Despite the lack of appeal, Susan's stomach grumbled and she reached down to collect the chunk. Marcus had gathered it, too. In all fairness, she'd been busy tending Marenn, but still there it was, another thing Marcus had had to do because she couldn't. Resentment tempted her to eat the whole thing, but her sense of equity and justice outweighed it by far, while sinking guilt returned with grief to weaken her appetite.

She hadn't really known Marenn. She'd never spoken a word to her, not one that she'd understood, anyway. But still she'd cared for her, held her, whispered in her ear to calm her when the delirium brought nightmares, been in every way something of a friend to her. The cry of pain she'd barely heard herself make when she woke to find her lifeless, not just unconscious, was testament to that.

Blinking back the sting in her eyes, she broke the cactus meat in half and took the smaller piece.

When she felt the warm drop on her cheek, she wiped it quickly away, fearing it might be a tear. Marcus was approaching, she couldn't let him see her so weak—

Another drop hit her forehead and she looked up. Rain, not tears. She got shakily to her feet and as Marcus came up beside her with news that he'd been out scouting—the riverbed, as far as he could tell, went all the way to the mountains and they might consider moving since there was bound to be better shelter—she hardly heard him. It was raining, Marenn was dead, they were alone, and what the _hell_ was the point of anything?

She caught him about the shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing her eyes shut for a brief moment and letting the human contact loosen the painful knot in her chest before she pulled away. "It's raining," she said as if that explained everything and smiled with trembling lips, holding a hand out to catch the drops.

Before long, there was a growing stream running down the riverbed. It flowed around Marenn, slowly eroding the soil piled over her. It poured over her body, wetting her robes and washing the dirt off her skin. She glowed in the bluish half-light, pale face serene, as the water lifted her gently and carried her haltingly away.

Susan watched and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, very much aware of Marcus next to her. He looked as though he was half-tempted to follow the young woman as she drifted away, making a false start and then turning away under the pretext of digging a rain catcher a little further into the ground.

Susan moved off without a word, walking slowly on the slippery bank and forcefully keeping her mind away from all things unhappy. She followed the river upstream until the valley grew too steep to keep her balance. She waded for a while, pants rolled up to her knees, and then paused, looking down in vague amusement. Why bother? She glanced over her shoulder to reassure herself of her privacy more out of habit than anything else and then stripped her pants off, draping them with her jacket over a nearby shrub to be picked up later. She continued on her way, now pushing her way through the deep part of the stream.

Out of breath, she stopped for a moment and just stood, digging her bare toes into the soft bottom. She splashed water over her face, rinsing away some of the grime, and then cupped her hands and drank. It was warm but refreshing as it washed down her throat. Smiling, she moved on.

She laughed as she stumbled again and again, sometimes just staggering and sometimes pitching over face-first. It was above her hips now, making walking nearly impossible. She pushed off and swam with as much force as she could muster, but found herself still being dragged backwards. She gave up easily and turned around, letting the current carry her at a half-decent pace.

As she was flung around a corner, her legs dragged along the bottom and she winced at the rough sand, kicking to center herself again. Marcus and the camp came into view, darker spots just above the edge of the water. She laughed again, thanking whatever power had stopped the rising tide before it swept away their home, a laugh that cut itself off abruptly as her foot hit something underwater with considerable force. She pulled her legs up as best she could and peered down into the murky depths. Seeing nothing, she had only just dismissed it as a rock or other piece of debris when something quite definitely _not_ a rock attached itself to her calf.

Sudden pain shot up her leg, making her cry out, startled as much as hurt. She jerked away, swimming haphazardly towards shore. Whatever had latched on was not letting go – she could feel it pulling at her skin, tearing flesh and spreading a red cloud in the water around her. She cried out again, kicking fiercely, and at last felt her flailing hands meet solid ground. She struggled to heave herself up, out of the stream, but more pain bit into her wrist. She yelled, feeling the sandy ground slipping away as whatever had her pulled her back into the water. Her head went under briefly and she wrenched it back up, spitting and gasping for air.

Something else, hard and strong, grabbed her under the arms. She shrieked, thrashing, determined to get away. She was _not_ going to be eaten. Especially not while it was _raining_. _God,_ she thought dimly as the large thing hauled her backwards, out of the water, _of all the days to get eaten, why this one? It's not fair…_

The world was fading a bit at the edges and her head felt light, her thoughts a disjointed cloud. Marcus was above her, saying something with an urgent look on his face, but all she could think of was how odd it was that he'd tried to eat her. The pain had vanished and she smiled faintly, closing her eyes as rain pounded into them. She was awfully tired – when was the last time she'd gotten a good night's sleep? It must've been a while…

"_Susan_!"

The shout was near her ear and jolted her back to consciousness. Her eyes opened blearily and she blinked water out of them. "What?" she slurred, struggling to sit up. She was so _heavy_ and so tired…

Pain lanced up her arm as she put weight on it and she grunted, bringing it around to see. A neat circle of bleeding red dots patterned her wrist: distinct teeth marks. The memory of what must've only just happened returned and she pulled herself upright with her good hand, gaping down at her leg. The same red dots had drenched half her lower leg in blood. Marcus was working quickly to tie a strip of cloth around her thigh. He yanked it tight and she made an irritated noise of complaint at the discomfort.

He glanced up at her. "Stay with me this time," he instructed tersely.

"How long was I out?" she asked, still feeling a bit sleepy. There must've been some sort of poison in the bites…

"Not long," he replied, tearing another strip of cloth from… were those her pants? She had half a mind to berate him for that, too, but talking required energy and that seemed to be in short supply. He scuttled around to her other side and grabbed her injured wrist, tying the make-shift tourniquet around her upper arm. She wrinkled her nose slightly. "Any pain?" he asked, peering at the wounds carefully, as if checking for any teeth that might've lodged in her skin. He probably was, she mused, the overprotective bastard.

"No," she replied, vaguely surprised by the truth of her statement. _Well_, her mind remarked sardonically, _if you're going to be poisoned, it might as well be with an anaesthetic._

He seemed to be of the same opinion as her inner voice and said so. She laughed a bit and let her head fall back down. The sleepiness was returning, and she knew well enough to fight it. It seemed a useless battle to fight; every second she struggled to keep awake, the pain grew. It was awfully tempting…

Marcus pounded the ground next to her ear and she jerked. "I'm awake!" she snapped, sitting up. With her good hand, she wiped rain out of her eyes and screamed. Marcus _wasn't_ Marcus. His eyes glowed the eerie blue of the sun and when he opened his mouth, needle-like teeth glinted at her. He reached out, crawling towards her, a rotting, twisted hand seizing her shoulder. She shoved him away, crying out briefly at the pain it sent along her arm, and scrambled backwards. Words, unintelligible, flew out of his monster mouth alongside a legion of beetles. They swarmed around her, black shells scuttling across the sand and oily wings hissing through the air, pincers poised to bite whatever they came across. And, if the intent gleam in their beady red eyes was any indication, that was going to be her.

She beat at them, trying desperately to get away, to get out of this sudden nightmare. The Marcus-monster caught her as she struggled to stand, bringing her back down. She sank a fist into his gut, meeting hard muscle and bending her already-hurt wrist back painfully. He held her tightly, strong arms wrapped around her in such a restricting grip that she could hardly breathe, let alone move. Her heart hammered in her chest, her lungs gasping for air. Cold terror washed over her again and again, but try as she might, she couldn't get free.

The pounding adrenaline began to fade, and her energy left her in a rush. She slumped, defeated, and waited to be eaten alive with a strange sort of commitment. _Mama… I'll see you soon._

The arms around her relaxed slightly but, to her surprise, the fatal strike never came. Instead, a hand held her head gently to a warm, solid chest. She pulled away and felt her stomach drop out again. The terrible face was still there. The monster, the _creature_, was stroking her hair. She punched it as hard as she could.

It reeled back and swore, sounding distinctly British. Susan's vision swam, the beetles around her vanishing and the monster's features going fuzzy. She blinked hard and saw Marcus before her, nursing a split lip. He gave her a rather affronted look and made a sarcastic comment that she couldn't quite hear over the headache that was blooming behind her eyes. She raised a hand to her temple, groaned softly, and fell backwards, unconscious.

_What a day._


	4. Chapter 4

The sleep was restless and fitful, filled with biting teeth and reaching hands and darkness. Awake with a gasp, she sat bolt upright and banged her head on the slanted roof of the shelter. She fell back down with a curse that stuck in her dry throat and came out as a garbled, unintelligible noise. Her whole body ached, in particular her left leg, and the light coming in the door was much too bright. Dry heat pressed on her, even in the shade, and she sighed softly. The rain had stopped.

Thoughts of rain led to thoughts of swimming, and of whatever had bitten her. She pulled off the familiar black cloak that had been draped over her as a blanket and propped herself up to examine her wounds. Her wrist was bruised and tender, but the punctures were just scabs, small and round. Her leg, on the other hand, was a mess. Bruises spread out from her ankle to her knee, and the teeth marks were sizeable gashes. They had clotted, at least, but still looked as though the slightest prodding could open them again, something she quite certainly did not fancy.

A quick glance around the shelter found her pants—which she could vaguely remember abandoning on a handy bush—lying in a neatly folded stack near her head. Outside appeared to be another blindingly bright day, just like any other, but the soil seemed darker. Carefully, she manoeuvred herself around and crawled out the door, blinking rapidly in the light.

The sight before her, when her eyes had adjusted enough to take it in painlessly, was breathtaking. There was a river. A real, honest-to-god river. It was about four feet across and probably no more than three feet deep, but it had to be the largest, most important river in the universe. And it was all hers.

_Ours_, she amended, glancing along the valley. Marcus was a ways off, bending down and fiddling with something in the ground. She could make out a splotch of green and her heart soared. Quickly, she scanned the bank nearer to her. Sure enough, small plants were sprouting up in the moist soil, spreading baby leaves to the sun. Cactuses that she'd previously taken for dead were swollen and a rich shade of green. Some even sported the promises of brightly coloured flowers.

Susan smiled. There would be food, at last.

She was still smiling when Marcus made his way back to her, carrying a long, slender stick and something green. He smiled when he saw her sitting outside the shelter and gestured grandiosely. "Most sure, the goddess on whom this humble servant attends!"

"What's that?" she inquired distractedly, attention on the green in his hand, "Shakespeare?"

"The Tempest." Still grinning, he seated himself next to her. "How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Good," she replied offhandedly, prying at his fingers to reveal cactus meat and a leafy shoot. She plucked the cactus from his grip and bit into it happily, barely hearing his teasing reply. How long since she had last eaten anything?

Almost immediately, she felt better. Her list of aches shortened as her stomach was supplied with something other than emptiness to complain about, and she shifted in the sandy dirt, stretching her legs out in front of her. Her bare legs, she noted, and wondered dimly if he cared.

He startled her slightly by extending a hand into her field of view. "Eat this," he instructed. The hand, she now saw, had a small bit of mashed up green pinched between its fingers. She took it warily, remembering the last time he'd assured her something tasted good. "Some sort of teltin leaf, I think. A desert planet's antiseptic."

"So then shouldn't I put it on the cut itself?" she questioned. There were flecks of brownish purple in the paste. Her already-churning stomach turned at the thought of putting _that_ in her mouth.

"I wouldn't recommend it," he said cheerfully. "Stings something fierce. Most pass out from the pain. A little less effective when taken orally, I grant you, but much more pleasant."

Now quite thoroughly convinced that the leaf paste was more likely to kill her than any bacteria that might have taken up residence in her leg and arm, she resolved to dispose of it at the nearest opportunity. As soon as he looked away…

His gaze flicked down to her injured calf. She feigned popping the leaf paste into her mouth and quickly hid it in her hand, grinding it into the soil next to her and exaggerating a swallow as he looked back up at her. He looked sceptical and she wore her best Don't-You-Doubt-Me-You-Gullible-Bugger face until he quirked an eyebrow and prodded at her leg. She hissed despite herself and hastily bit her tongue. "Still sore," he observed.

"How long was I out?" She had a fuzzy memory of being swarmed by inexplicable black beetles and passing out, but little to judge time by.

He glanced toward the sun. "Twelve hours? Blasted shorter days… couldn't just take pity on the poor soul who dares travel and make all planets spin the same, no, because that would just make too much sense." Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow and he paused, cutting off whatever remained in the rant. "Pet peeve, sorry. I'm not sure. All night, that's all I can really say for sure."

Susan nodded. Yesterday's events were blurry in her mind. She remembered swimming, being carried along by a warm, fast current. Then there was pain, and a struggle—reflexively, she shied away from the details—and then she could recall being hauled out of the river. Marcus had been there, and then he hadn't, and everything had turned dark and nightmarish.

When she asked Marcus what he knew about what happened, his story matched closely to hers. He'd heard her yelling and had come running to pull her onto the bank. She'd passed out briefly and then seemed lucid for a bit, before plunging into what he could only guess was some sort of hallucination induced by the venom in the bites.

"You were fighting like mad," he informed her, brows raised. "Gave me a few good hits, see?" He pointed to a dark bruise on his abdomen. "I kept trying to get a hold on you so you wouldn't bleed yourself to death, but you wouldn't have anything of it. Yelling and screaming, too—it's a bloody good thing we're not on station or Mr. Garibaldi would nail my head to the hull." He grinned and she felt a pang of guilt.

She'd passed out and he'd brought her back to the shelter, where he'd cleaned out the wounds and, once the bleeding had ceased, removed the tourniquets. The rain, as it turned out, had stopped shortly later, just past sundown.

Susan felt the soil, dry and hot beneath her fingers. All that water had dried up in a few hours… how long would the river last? She gazed down at it, as if she could burn the sight into her mind and simply will it to stay.

Beside her, Marcus perked up. "Oh!" he exclaimed, scuttling to his feet and half-disappearing into the shade of the shelter. "I got you something. Where is it—" he rummaged about for a moment, probably sunblind, and finally gave an exclamation of triumph.

He returned, carrying something rather large and brownish. He tucked it behind his back as he sat back down and instead offered her several small, white triangles. She peered at them, uncertain of what exactly he was trying to get at. Then, "Are those…"

"Teeth," he confirmed. She picked one up cautiously, turning it over in her fingers. On closer inspection, it wasn't perfectly triangular, but rather a curved ivory dagger, with two small pricks on top, presumably the roots. "Those I found in _you_," Marcus said, reaching behind him, "And _this_ I found in the river."

It was a rat, of sorts. By far the strangest rat she had ever seen, but still definitely rodent. It was near as long as her forearm, with a short, thin tail and sturdy whiskers. The skin was a browny-grey and the eyes milk white. She shuddered slightly at the sight of its mouth, a lamprey-ish hole as wide as its head, filled with teeth that seemed oversized.

"You caught _that_—" she looked towards the river "in _there_."

He nodded, looking quite pleased with himself. "It's probably a bit smaller than the ones that got you," he mused. He held it up to the bite on her wrist. "Well, maybe here—"

She jerked her arm away and glared at him. "That's disgusting. I don't even want to know _how_ you caught it, but unless it's edible, get rid of it."

He eyed the creature speculatively. "I don't think _we'd _want to eat it," he said slowly, "seeing as what happened last time any of it got into us, hallucinations and all. But there might be other fish that would."

It was a good idea, she admitted, and not just because it meant that the horrid thing would be ripped to pieces and hopefully eaten, bit by bit. Fish were at the best of times a good meal, and now, at the worst of times, Susan would bet they'd be the most exquisite thing she'd ever tasted. Her mouth watered at the thought, and the cactus she tried to coax herself into accepting seemed viler than ever.

* * *

The river shrank with unnerving speed. Marcus hurried to fashion a hook and line out of cactus spines and scraps of wood before the water had receded so much that it could no longer harbour fish of any sort. Susan helped him as best she could, but her fingers felt thick and clumsy. After pricking herself hard enough to draw a bubble of blood from her thumb, she threw her project down in disgust and crawled under the shelter to sleep.

Marcus watched her go. It was very possible that whatever poison had been in the ratfish's bite was still affecting her. The initial effects had been odd, disjointed, and unlike anything he'd dealt with before. Uneasily, he tied the last knot on his line and glanced up at her. She was half-curled into a ball, good leg tucked up and the other out straight. Her face was shadowed by the relative darkness of the shelter, but her chest rose and fell rhythmically and he was fairly sure she was already asleep. Another worrisome sign; he'd never seen her fall asleep so quickly in all the time they'd been on the planet. He wondered briefly if he should've tried to keep her awake.

_Well_, he reminded himself, _she's breathing. Wake her now, and _you_ won't be for long._

Sighing lightly, he tugged experimentally on his new line and smiled, satisfied. He took the ratfish from where it lay on the ground and the sharp rock he'd found earlier and expertly sawed off a chunk of flesh. The putrid smell it released made him recoil and he examined the meat, thinking for a moment that it had gone rotten already. To all appearances it was fine, and besides, it was only for fish. He shrugged and stuck it onto his hook, then tossed the line into the water.

It was long minutes before anything resembling a bite echoed up along the string. When it finally did, he jerked hard. The hook, now bare, shot out of the water and landed beside him, glistening wet on the ground. He glowered and reached for more bait.

Time crawled by. He was sure it had been only an hour, perhaps at the most two, but it felt as though half the day had gone by when, at last, the hook snagged in the jaw of an unsuspecting carnivore. He yanked again, wincing a bit as the rope dug into his fingers, and hauled backwards. Muttering a hasty prayer that his line wouldn't break, he reeled it in carefully, gathering fistful after fistful of the hand-made twine.

The surface of the river erupted in a spray of water, and a large grey _thing_ sailed through the air. It hit the ground nearby and lay there, thrashing and gasping for air. Marcus quickly snatched it up before it could flop its way back home and peered at it appraisingly. The hook was embedded deep in its cheek, past uninviting rows of tiny teeth. He grimaced and tried to work the barb out from the outside, without success.

"Sorry, friend," he said, half-sincerely. "Looks like you're stuck with that. If you'll pardon the pun."

The fish gulped blankly.

Marcus watched it for a moment, then set it down on its stomach on a small flat rock, holding it still with a firm grip. Taking up another, rounder stone from nearby, he weighed it briefly in his hand, feeling ridiculously like a caveman. Shrugging it off along with the small twinge of guilt, he raised the stone and brought it down hard. There was a crunch and a spray of purplish blood, and the fish lay still. He looked down at it, its eyes dark and glassy, and couldn't help a smile. Pride and satisfaction outweighed whatever guilt he might have felt, and it wasn't long before he had a fire going and strips of pink flesh skewered above it.

Roused by the sound of crackling wood, Ivanova rubbed her eyes and looked around. The sky had darkened, the last traces of an unearthly sunset lingering on the horizon. The air was cooling already, but as she cautiously crawled out of the shelter, the ground beneath her hands was hot. She settled next to the fire, examining her leg before it got too dark. There was little change.

Marcus was attentively turning several long sticks with blobs of something on their ends, keeping them just above the reach of the flames. Susan hoped it wasn't more cactus.

But then the smell reached her. She nearly keeled back, astounded. "Is that… fish?" She hardly dared say it. He nodded, looking quite pleased with himself. "It's not that rat thing?"

He shook his head and she sighed in relief. "No," he said gleefully, "this lovely fishy I caught _using_ that rat thing." He retracted one skewer and prodded the meat on its tip. He tore a small piece off and chewed it pensively. A smile spread across his face, and he handed her another stick.

She snatched it from him and pulled a chunk off immediately, blowing on it to cool it. Marcus, on the other hand, had popped his right into his mouth. He fanned himself, lips in a comical O as he tried in vain to save his scalded tongue. She laughed, holding up her own safely warm piece and eating it tauntingly. He finally managed to swallow his and gulped water from a canteen, chuckling with her.

The first skewers disappeared quickly. The seconds lasted longer. Susan savoured hers, enjoying the feel of meat between her teeth and the sharp taste of fish on her tongue. It was different from Earth fish but still similar, just as all alien foods were both different and similar. It had a pleasing flavour, sturdy and a little bit tangy, and though her stomach churned at having to process something so foreign, it put a smile on her face.

Long after the fish was gone, they sat around the fire. Not talking – there wasn't much to talk about when everyone you see is each other. Marcus mashed up leaves and Susan lounged, sprawled on the warm soil and letting the heat of the fire keep the night's chill at bay. She had just managed to lose herself pleasantly in the stars when a soggy-looking scrap of cloth protruded into her view. She gave its holder a half-hearted glare.

"A poultice," he proclaimed. "It'll prevent infection, I think." He swept a remarkably chivalrous bow considering he was seated, and held it out to her. "For you."

She picked it up and sniffed it cautiously. _Not_ a nice smell. Hastily moving it away from her face, she eyed her bruised and bloody calf. After watching Marenn waste away as she had, infection was not high on Susan's wish list. And, despite what she might or might not admit, Marcus probably knew what he was doing. So, she wrapped it carefully around her leg and tied it tightly. The feel of it against her skin was not totally unenjoyable, a smooth, cool slime that shifted about slightly as she moved. She thanked Marcus for his trouble and lay back down.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye, across the fire. His back was straight as he sat gazing absently into the flames. They cast a soft light over him, smoothing features that might otherwise have been rough and unkempt. His beard was longer than it had been back long ago, and the lines around his mouth were deeper. He was handsome, she mused vaguely, in an odd sort of way.

The thought echoed in her mind until she paid it full attention and she shivered, trying to shove it away. The object of her troubles caught the motion and rose immediately. Susan felt herself flush as she realized she was wearing little more than a tattered shirt and underwear, and sat up to hide her expression in the firelight. He returned with her jacket and his cloak, as she'd known he would. He draped the jacket over her shoulders gallantly, and laid the cloak out over her bare legs. She glowered as he sat back down, muttering something about being able to do it just fine herself, thank you very much. He cheerfully replied that he knew.

And he did know. He knew her as she knew him; it was the hard-won – or hard fought against – intimacy that came with living so closely with another human being. She'd slept next to him more nights than she cared to count, she'd seen him in naught but his underwear, she'd worked with him, worked against him, and helped him. He'd done the same for her. She knew him in nearly every sense, knew the sight of him, the smell of him, the sound of him, even the feel of him, but not the taste of him. To her horror, her flush deepened as she felt a sudden longing to know him in that final sense as well.

He met her eyes and she jerked away, embarrassed further to be caught staring. She mumbled an excuse about being tired and crawled back to the shelter, avoiding his gaze. There, she lay awake for a long while, listening to the fire as it died down and trying not to let her eyes or her thoughts stray back to the man sitting next to it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay! Long time no update. Sorry about that, but here's an extra long chappie to make up for it. Extra fluffy too, so you'd better be happy! I know I am. XD**

* * *

They moved. Several days later, once Ivanova's leg had healed enough to bear weight without breaking open, they packed up what little they had and headed out. They followed the stream, now a small trickle, travelling in the late afternoon and night and sleeping away the hot sunlight hours. The mountains on the horizon loomed closer, but the day-to-day change was hardly noticeable. It was demoralizing, and their spirits as well as their energy flagged.

They put up camp, took down camp, and hardly said a word to each other. It was a matter of eating a few bites, drinking as much as possible, and falling down into the sand beneath what passed as shelter, dead tired. There was nothing to talk about, anyway, and Susan thought she rather liked the silence. While not happy or enjoyable, it was companionable, two lost souls suffering together.

And _god_, was it suffering. They were bone-tired, even upon waking up in the evenings, and constant walking did nothing to help. While plentiful,the cactus meat, despite its name, was just fruit and never quite seemed to be enough. Small relief to the ache in her belly was that she seemed to be free from a different, more unwelcome sort of ache, probably due to the almost total lack of anything nutritious in her diet. And then, of course, was the fact that she couldn't take a step without pain.

She set herself landmarks: the cactus just past the river's bend, the rock sticking up over there, those shrubs up ahead. Every time, she reached her goal and kept walking, doing her utmost to set each foot down evenly and not let the discomfort show on her face. The push of blood that came with weight bearing brought a dull, pulsing throb to the rhythm of walking. With little promise of respite, it took all her will just to keep moving.

Marcus was better off and felt badly for it. His sunburnt back and shoulders had long since healed, now tanned a deep, unfamiliar brown. His ribs, also, were as strong and bruise-free as if they'd never been hurt in the first place. He was left to walk beside her, watching her struggle through each motion and knowing she'd never forgive him if he did anything to help.

Finally, after what must have been more than a week of marching, the ground began to change. It was still desert, dry and arid and devoid of life, but there were hills. Small at first, and then gradually larger. By sunup, they were among the foothills of the mountain range. They had been fortunate in that even while the heat had worked to dry their tiny stream, the river itself had begun to grow. Now it ran deep and clear next to their little camp, the source most likely somewhere nearby.

The next day brought them further into the hills. They stuck to their valley, which had become more of a gorge. It was broad and flat, with towering cliffs framing it on either side. Trees, odd looking things with sparse prickly leaves, grew on the banks of the river and tangled in with the rocky cliff-bases, and a little further down grew densely enough to be called a jungle. They found a small cave and dropped their belongings, flopping down on the ground with lingering sighs of relief. Home.

When he'd recovered enough, Marcus went out exploring the new surroundings. The valley continued on into the distance, eventually vanishing around a corner. The cliffs looked climbable, but he was in no inclination or condition to do so. He walked past several small holes in the ground, dismissing them as animal burrows, and then doubled back. Animal burrows.

He paced about, eyes on the ground and ears pricked. There were more holes scattered everywhere, in varying sizes. The calls of strange birds, which he had at first not recognized, resounded off the rocks. The water of the river was clear and against the stony bottom he saw the shiny underbellies of fish glinting. The valley was teeming with life.

He went bounding back to Susan, practically bursting with excitement. Finding her sound asleep, he sighed, disappointed, and quietly retrieved his fishing gear. He had no bait, but with luck the fish might be curious enough about the foreign cactus thorn to nibble experimentally. And, he thought with a smile, if worse came to worst, he could always go about it the old-fashioned way: bare-handed.

Worse did not come to worst. In fact, after a surprisingly short wait for the first small victim, they came easily. He chopped up the first catch remorselessly and used it as bait, snagging fish after fish until he thought they couldn't possibly eat them all. Extremely satisfied, he killed them and set them down within sight. He kept a watchful eye on them as he piled rocks in a circle and then tossed several dry sticks in. Susan stirred at the sound of striking flint.

She yawned and sat up, looking with pleasure around at the valley. Her gaze fell on Marcus, nursing a baby flame a short distance away. There was a pile of something glistening next to him… she squinted at it. Fish. A pile of fish. Her mouth watered.

She scuttled over to him and offered her assistance with whatever would make the meal come faster. She ended up building the fire while he drove long sticks through the fish. They each held two, keeping them close to the flames and practically drooling at the smell. Fatty oil dripped into the fire and hissed, smoking deliciously. There was no need to wait for them to cook all the way through, really. All four fish disappeared with remarkable speed.

Afterwards, they lay sprawled beneath a tree, stomachs full and totally sated. Life was suddenly good; they had shade, they had water, they had food. Even Susan's leg felt better.

Life, in general, felt better.

* * *

Leaf fronds tickled her arms as she crouched. Low to the ground and completely still, she watched as her prey cooed sleepily, unawares. She shifted her weight carefully, inching ahead. Any noise, no matter how slight, would spook the bird, and she'd be without dinner. Unless, of course, Marcus came up with something, which he surely would if she failed here. She was determined not to let that happen.

The bird was within reach. Susan stretched out, leaning forwards, dirt-smeared hands ready. A leaf beneath her knee crunched and the bird raised his head, startled yellow eyes meeting hers for a brief moment. Cursing, she pounced.

And something pounced on her. A heavy mass hit her from behind, knocking her head over heels into the foliage. The bird slipped from her grip as she struck out at her attacker. She landed flat on her back, winded, and stared up at Marcus.

Gasping, she reflexively brought her knee up between his legs. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

He rolled off her immediately, swearing. "I thought—" he shook his head, sheepish and apologetic. "I thought you were an animal."

"Oh," she snapped, getting halfway to her feet and advancing on him, "Oh, you did, did you? Thanks _so _much."

"A large—" he wisely snapped his mouth shut and tried again. "I couldn't really see you, follow? Just the leaves moving. And you were stalking a bird, so I thought—"

"That you'd just jump on me and scare the goddamn bird away?" She turned away, seething and nursing more than a bruised shoulder. "That was our supper, you son of a—"

He lunged forward and clapped a hand over her mouth, effectively cutting her off. She sank her teeth into his fingers and punched him hard in the gut, but he held on tightly, wrapping his other arm around her to hold her still. "Not that I wouldn't love to have you insult my parentage all day long," he hissed, mouth near her ear, "but _there's something out there_. Listen."

Wide-eyed and still burning with fury, she listened. At first, she heard nothing, but then the distinctive sound of animal breath filtered through the jungle. It was close, and it was _big._ Anger beginning to be replaced by cold fear—they hadn't seen anything dangerous so far but that didn't mean it wasn't out there—Susan didn't dare move. She stared around at the surrounding trees and greenery, straining to see without turning her head.

"Can you see it?" she breathed. The head next to hers shook ever so slightly. "Let's go. Slowly."

Very slowly. Both of them poised to either freeze or sprint away at any sign of whatever was out there, they got to their feet. With painful care, they stepped away, following their own trail towards the edge of the forest. Beneath one of their feet, Susan wasn't sure whose, a twig snapped. There was a louder breath, almost like a satisfied snort, and then crunching footsteps. A short ways off, the bushes rattled.

As one, Susan and Marcus ran. They ploughed through the dense trees, branches and shrubs catching at their skin and what remained of their clothing. Nearly to the clear, Marcus's foot snagged. He fell hard and didn't get up. Susan stumbled to a stop and reversed, hesitating only as their pursuer burst into view.

It was reptilian in a way, somewhere between a bird and a dinosaur. It stood nearly as high as Susan's chin, small head bobbing on a long neck just slightly below the shoulders. It looked from Marcus's still form to Susan's frozen one and back. Its paralyzing gaze off her, Susan lunged forward and grabbed Marcus by the elbows, hauling him away. The creature snorted and made a sort of high bark, stepping on long corded legs towards her. Susan glared at it, straightening and making herself as big as possible, squashing her fear. It paused, head weaving back and forth. It barked again and Susan couldn't help a small flinch.

Leering dangerously, it advanced. Susan dropped Marcus and backed away, slipping behind a tree. She crept quickly around, staying behind a layer of foliage. The creature had its head bent low, sniffing at Marcus. A slender tongue darted out of the beak and prodded the bare skin of his back, and Susan sprung out of hiding with a cry. _Nobody eats my friends._

She hurled herself into the animal's side, grabbing its neck. Sharp scales bit into her palms and feathers made keeping her grip difficult against the bucking and screaming creature. Twisting with all her strength, she doubled the neck back on itself and heard a crunch. The animal dropped immediately and Susan breathed a sigh of relief.

She bent over Marcus and hooked her arms through his, dragging him as gently as she could the last few feet out of the jungle. Half-blinded by the sunlight, she squinted and kept pulling, starting to feel the bruises and cuts she'd acquired. Finally, by the river, she set him down. Reluctant to leave him alone after such a run in, even to fetch bandages from the camp, she knelt next to him and quickly washed her hands. She made a quick inspection of his body, finding that despite multiple scrapes along his arms and chest, his only real injury was a bleeding cut on his forehead. She cleaned it carefully with her hands, splashing water and picking out the tiny bits of dirt she could see within it.

It was still bleeding. She climbed tiredly to her feet and scanned the valley around them for more of the bird creatures. Finding none, she set off for their little cave at a run. There, she grabbed bandages and scooped up two fingers full of the disinfectant mush Marcus had ground up earlier. She dashed back to him, still on the look out.

He was still unconscious when she reached him, and remained so while she dressed and bound his head. Finished, she rocked back on her heels. His breathing was calm and regular, rather more than she could say for her own. Her heart was gradually returning to its normal pace, but she was still far from calm. Anxiety battered at her as she sat, waiting for him to open his eyes. What if he didn't? She couldn't bear it. She'd be alone.

She could recall the first time those thoughts had occurred to her. They'd popped up between then and now many times, too many to count. What _would_ she do if he died? How could she go on? Rescue had long since faded from the realm of the probable and was well on its way out of the possible. What was the point of eking out survival? She would die eventually, with no one to see her go. Perhaps it would be painful—would she break her leg in a fall and fade gradually out of sanity, like Marenn? With no one to care for her, no one to hold her hand as the last speck of light faded to darkness before her eyes, how could she bear it?

With trembling hands, she wet a bandage and wrung it out, folding it carefully and placing it over Marcus's temple. The cool would help the swelling, she thought. She hoped. She wet another one and wrung it out too, piling it atop the other. It looked ridiculous, a tower of white protruding from his head, and she took it off. She set it down on the stony bank and wrung her hands instead.

Time crawled past. The sun began to sink, taking with it the day's heat. Sleep was out of the question. Scared, cold, and tired, Susan sat. Hunger twisted with the sickening worry in her stomach. She tried to drink some water, but wasn't thirsty. She tucked her knees up and waited.

A soft moan brought leaping joy to her heart. She slumped in relief as Marcus opened his eyes. "You're not… waiting for me, are you?" His voice was rough and quiet and Susan's vision blurred.

She turned her head away resolutely, willing herself to stop shivering. "Of course not. I had to make sure you didn't get eaten again, that's all." She stood, ignoring the painful protests of her limbs at the sudden movement. "Get up and come back to camp. I'm hungry." Gruffly, she marched off.

She wiped as discreetly as she could at her eyes, hoping the darkness hid the motion from him. When they reached the camp, she set about making a fire and told him what had happened, leaving out, of course, her feelings on the matter.

Naturally, sleep that night was uneasy. Marcus thought it best that he stay awake, in light of what was almost certainly a concussion and of the newly discovered dangers of the valley. Practicality pointed out that they had had no troubles with any such creatures before, so worry was unnecessary. Troubled imaginations kept them both awake, whether or not they wanted to be.

Susan lay motionless, her back to Marcus. She could sense him, a dominating presence in her bubble of personal space. It was driving her crazy with agonizing slowness, while her mind churned with the afternoon's events.

The realization of just _how much_ he actually meant to her had prompted other thoughts. Had _he_ ever considered the possibility of _her_ death? What would he do? Could he carry on as if nothing had ever happened, as if she'd never existed? Would he care? Did she mean anything to him? At all?

Abruptly, she sat up. Marcus looked over at her in surprise. "Feeling alright?" He looked a bit concerned. She wondered if her expression was that telling.

She was at a loss for words. Despite the emotions pressing fervently at her, she couldn't think of a single thing to say. It was a long moment before she finally managed to swallow her pride and get the words "I'm glad you're okay" past her lips.

He smiled, a small, grateful kind of smile that made her wonder how she could ever have doubted that she meant something to him. "I'm glad you're okay, too," he replied, "In a rather different context, of course, but there it still is."

She laughed a bit. "How's the head doing?" she asked, only partly because of the round-aboutness of his response.

"Quite well," he said happily, "thanks to Nurse Susan's expert dressing." She whacked his arm half-heartedly. "What? I'll have made quite the healer out of you by the end of all this."

Her smile faltered. "What _is_ the end of all this?" she asked quietly. "We're not going to be rescued."

"Why ever not?" he replied perkily. "Better late than never, I always say."

She shook her head slightly and looked away, towards the cave mouth. It had been two months. They'd abandoned the only noticeable sign of their existence. No one knew where they were. And they both knew it.

But what if we're not rescued, she wanted to say. What if we're stuck here? Do we keep living like this, waiting? Do we settle down and try to make life as good as we can?

What she said, after a pause, was, "There are a lot of planets out there, Marcus."

"And a lot of ships."

She searched his gaze for a moment. Why argue? Did she _want_ to be stuck here forever? No, of course not.

She relented and leaned back against the wall. "You should sleep," he said gently.

"I'm not tired," she replied. He arched an eyebrow and she amended, "I can't."

"No," he corrected, "_I _can't."

She glowered but lay down. She looked over at him. "Happy?"

"Always."

She rolled her eyes and turned onto her side, trying to find some comfort in the hard ground. At least she had the whole space to herself, she thought.

That brought with it more worries. Irrational they might have been, they were as present and as real as monsters in a child's closet. She would always have the space to herself if he died. She'd have the planet to herself. The only human being on the planet. Alone, forever. No company, no conversation, no contact. Alone.

"Are you afraid?" he asked softly.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "Why would I be afraid?"

"You haven't closed your eyes once tonight."

Just to spite him, she closed them tightly. To her mortification, she felt the anxiety begin to creep up on her in the darkness. Her eyes snapped open again. She glared at him.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he told her sincerely, ignoring her angry stare.

"That's not what I'm afraid of," she muttered.

"And what _is_ the great Susan Ivanova afraid of? Spiders? _Everyone's_ afraid of them. No shame in it, you know."

She didn't answer. A long moment later, he extended a hand to her. "Come here." It was a surprisingly firm request, but his tone left her all the room she'd need if she didn't want to.

And she _didn't_ want to. It was taking support and it was showing weakness, and that was humiliating, embarrassing, even degrading. But at the same time, she _did _want it_._ She wanted it more than anything. She took his hand and he pulled her up. She sat beside him and, cautiously, leaned her head on his shoulder. He ran a hand over her loose hair and she didn't miss the slight tremor in his fingers. She smiled.

Maybe this was part of what was so wrong with her. She'd lived with this man for months. She knew him, knew his body, had touched his body, but had never touched _him_. For that matter, when was the last time she'd touched anyone? Or let anyone touch her? It was a wonderful feeling, warm and comforting, and not at all frightening. What had she been so afraid of?

She caught his hand with hers and brought it down to her cheek, along her neck, onto her shoulder. She released him and returned her hand to her lap, waiting to see what he'd do. He remained on her shoulder for a long minute, and then, slowly, trailed down her upper arm. He brushed her cheek tenderly, and then threaded his fingers into her hair again. It was tangled and dirty, not pleasant in the least she was sure, but he didn't seem bothered by it.

Hesitantly, she traced the line of his collarbone. She felt his fingers go still against her temple. "What are you afraid of?" he asked again, gently.

She shook her head. "Nothing. It's silly…"

He set his chin atop her head and she heard him smile. "Promise not to laugh."

_She_ laughed and thumped his chest lightly. "It's nothing," she repeated, "Nothing important anyway."

He waited, stroking her back while she sorted out her feelings. Long moments later, he caught her meandering hand and tenderly brought it to his lips. She felt her eyes prickle and tears welled up before she could stop them. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was tight and shaky. "I'm afraid you'll leave. That I'll wake up and you won't be there. I couldn't—" She bit her lip, struggling for a moment to calm down, and then continued, more steadily but quieter, "I couldn't bear it. Living here without you. I'd lose my mind." There it was, out in the open now after god knows how long of keeping it pinned up inside. And, despite the faint flutter of nerves as she waited for his response, it felt good.

He raised her head with two fingers. She thought she might've been smiling, but her brain was so pleasantly fuzzy that it was hard to tell what any part of her body was doing. He kissed her gently, almost chastely, and then looked at her, holding her face between his hands as if he wanted to make absolutely sure she would hear and understand everything he said. "I won't leave you." A quiet, husky promise.

Her sight blurred again and she pressed her mouth to his before he could see it. "I know," she whispered against his lips. "Told you it was stupid."

"Not stupid," he assured her kindly, stroking her hair back from her face. "I can't imagine trying to live without you. Here…" he paused, "Or anywhere."

She smiled and felt several rogue tears tumble down her cheeks. "Thank you," she whispered.

He half-smiled, his thumb passing over her lips before brushing away the tears. He kissed her once more, still chaste, and then settled her against his shoulder. She leaned her head on him, fighting with herself for a minute before realizing that wiping the smile from her face was an impossible battle. So, still grinning, she closed her eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

She awoke feeling more refreshed than she had in months. The cave was bright in the morning sun, the walls washed in blue, and the man sleeping next to her looked peaceful and calm, if a little worse for wear. His bandage had slipped half off his head and carefully, she pulled it the rest of the way. He stirred slightly but didn't wake and she crept away, squashing the rather novel flicker of emotion the contact had sparked.

She felt a slight twinge of fear as she crossed the short distance to the river, fishing gear in hand, but a quick scan of the surroundings turned up no sign of dino-birds. She fitted a small chunk of stale meat onto the hook and tossed it out into the water, bobbing the line and slowly pulling it back in with practiced ease. Mindless work, really.

Unoccupied, her thoughts drifted back to the night before and she glanced over her shoulder at where Marcus still slept. How would things go when he awoke? Would he act like nothing had happened? Would _she_ act like nothing had happened? She turned her attention back to fishing and pushed away the small pang of apprehension.

It wasn't long until she managed to bring in a worthwhile fish. She killed it and spitted it, then collected a few leaves as a sort of improvised salad. Returning to camp, she restocked the fire pit and retrieved Marcus' flint from its place. Never much good at starting fires, as usual she struggled to keep this one alive for several minutes until a larger stick finally caught and she could prop the fish up to cook.

Over in the cave, Marcus sat up slowly and rubbed his head. "How're you feeling?" she asked to prevent the awkward silence she was sure would otherwise grow.

"Better," he replied, sounding a bit surprised about it himself. "Didn't mean to fall asleep… don't suppose you know how long I was out?" She shook her head. "Ah well, doesn't matter. I'm awake now, aren't I?"

She nodded, unsure of what to say. "I made breakfast," she said weakly.

He smiled and came to sit next to the fire. "Looks delicious. Been up long?"

She shrugged. "A little while." Her gaze flitted over the scab on his forehead. "I wasn't sure if I should wake you."

Now it was his turn to shrug. "I'm not sure if you should've, either. But it doesn't matter." He reached for the fish's skewer. "That looks just about done."

She nodded and accepted it from him, eating her half of the hot meat while he munched on a couple of leaves. She watched him, wondering at his thoughts. All she could sense was a sort of happy background hum, and she quickly shut that off. When had she gotten so adept at—or so loose about—reading him?

He looked up and caught her staring. She looked away. So that was that, then. They were both pretending nothing had happened. She prickled slightly at the thought; it would only make things worse. Best to just address it. "Marcus," she began, taking a deep breath, "About last night… I don't know if you—"

"I meant it," he said, an sharp edge underlying the quiet interruption.

She stared at the fire and silence fell for a long moment. "So did I," she admitted at last. She kept her gaze on the flames, feeling ridiculously awkward. At last, under the guise of handing him the rest of the fish, she sidled a bit closer and stayed there. If he noticed her half-hearted ruse, he made no indication of it.

"You know," she said suddenly with a note of surprise, "You kissed me."

He looked up at her quickly, a bit nervously, and nodded. "Well," he began, "to be fair, you kissed me, too."

She snorted. "No, just thinking aloud. But I…" she frowned slightly, "I didn't _mind_."

"Neither did I," he told her drolly. "Rather liked it actually."

Her mouth quirked. His expression was, as usual, unique to him. It was insufferably cute, and damned if the way he half-shrugged didn't send a ripple over the muscles in his chest. Her stomach tightened. He reached over to set aside the remains of the fish and before she could think better of it—and what was sure to follow—she caught his wrist, pulling him close. "So why didn't you do it again?" she breathed.

He didn't need to be asked twice, and in an instant the small remaining space between them vanished into a kiss much different from the previous night's. His mouth was still light on hers, but the way his arms had curved around her back could not be called chaste. She brushed her tongue against his lips and they parted immediately, giving her entry to a rich new world. She took advantage of her findings, angling her mouth against his for better access and tangling her fingers in his hair.

He broke away and she followed him automatically, drawing a chuckle. She felt his wry smile against her lips. "Better?"

"Shut up," she muttered, shifting closer to him. He was cross-legged on the ground and she pulled herself up to straddle him, her weight on her knees. His hands dropped to the small of her back as she caught his mouth again.

He tasted of fish and smelled of sweat and dirt, a combination she would never have imagined could be called sexy. It was proving her wrong, though, or maybe she just couldn't think straight enough to care. He was everywhere, cradling her, crushing her, exploring her, his hands slipping beneath her blouse and up… she caught her breath as his thumb grazed the side of her breast and then moved on, tantalizingly close. She nipped at his bottom lip, teasing him right back, and shifted her weight against him. He gave a soft groan that might have been her name and pulled her closer still.

She couldn't get enough. Want, something she hadn't felt—hadn't wanted to feel—in a long time, was pushing at her, winding itself into a tight knot at the pit of her stomach. She felt his battered skin beneath her fingers, the muscles under that, the ribs that probably stuck out more than was healthy, and his mouth was velvet on hers. She couldn't imagine she was terribly pleasant to kiss, her lips cracked and her teeth scuzzy, but if he'd noticed he didn't seem to care. He kissed her hungrily, almost desperately, as if afraid he'd never get the chance to do it again. Dimly she wondered if that was her fault.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She couldn't get enough air, stones were digging into her back, her heart was pounding all through her, but the man above her was all she could see. All she could feel. And _god_ did she want to feel him. She pushed his hair away and stretched up to kiss his neck, his shoulder, leaving a small bite on his collarbone before returning to his mouth. Her legs had hooked around him, trapping him. Not that she really thought he might want to escape—there was indication enough of just how much he wanted to stay pressing quite firmly into her belly.

She arched into him as he found her breast at last. She wasn't entirely sure what had happened to her shirt—or, really, when she'd ended up on the ground—but didn't give it more than a split-second's thought as his teeth grazed her nipple. Her breathy moan matched his as she arched again, letting her head fall back as he worked this newfound magic of his on her breast. And it really did seem to be magic; she couldn't recall feeling so totally given over, so wanting, so want_ed_, ever.

His touch on her was persistent, urgent, but still filled with a sort of wonder. He didn't falter—clearly he knew how the act was done, even if he'd never done it himself—but he did catch her hands as she reached for the fasteners on her pants. She looked up at him, his cheeks flushed and his hair dishevelled, and found him regarding her with a sort of patient uncertainty. She had to admire his self-control even if it was unnecessary, and slipped her hands from his to take his face between them. She smiled, trying to communicate every reassurance she could, and stretched up to kiss him gently. She felt him echo her smile against her lips.

It wasn't frightening. It wasn't dangerous—not in any bad way, at least. She felt safe, protected, and most certainly in good hands. Quite literally.

It was, of course, only upon this rather distracted realization that the dull screaming filtered through to her addled brain. At first, she had half a mind to ignore it, dismiss it as some bizarre creature doing exactly what they were about to, but as it grew louder she was sure she'd heard that sound before. Marcus heard it too; he lifted his head, eyes dark but ears pricked.

"Suppose…?" Language seemed just beyond their grasp.

Susan grappled for a moment before managing to remember where she'd come across the noise. "Engines?"

"Engines," he echoed slowly. Then, "_Engines_?" He sat up and she followed him, both scanning the sky.

"A signal," Susan exclaimed, snatching up her blouse, "We need a signal. Something they can see."

"More wood!" He clambered off her and scrambled to the firepit. "Green, if you can get it."

She dashed to the nearby tree and wrenched off all the low branches she could carry. She sprinted back and deposited them in a pile beside him while he knelt and fanned the small flames, feeding them dry tinder first. The screaming was getting louder, closer. He laid on a fresh branch, green and young. The screaming seemed right on top of them—the thin column of smoke wasn't enough—they'd never make it in time—

The ship, a small, rotund little vessel, soared over the valley. It vanished beyond the hills, making no sign of slowing. The screaming faded. Susan and Marcus watched it go, helpless.

"_Fuck!_" he yelled after it, leaping to his feet, "Come back you bloody deserter! Come on!" He flung his branch to the ground, shaking from head to foot. "Come on!"

Susan nearly yelled herself, but her throat had closed tightly and she couldn't make a sound. She stood slowly and approached Marcus's quivering form, her own arm trembling with a roiling mix of emotion as she set a hand on his back. He wrenched himself away and shouted after the ship again. "_Come on_!"

He stared at the air where it had been, the fine blur of exhaust left behind. Abruptly, he turned away and returned to the fire, stoking it quickly. "It'll come back. This time, we'll be ready."

Susan sighed slightly and crouched next to him, slowly feeding a long leaf frond into the flames. She looked at Marcus, gaze travelling over his intent features. His eyes were hard, focussed, despite his flushed cheeks and mussed hair. He was sure the ship was going to come back, she realized. He didn't have a doubt. "How can you know?" she asked quietly, her voice stifled by the sudden events.

"I just know," he said, glancing away from the fire for a moment to offer her a small smile. "Like I've said, claim victory in your heart, and—"

"And the universe will follow," she completed dubiously. "Right."

Despite her scepticism, she hoped he was right. She _wished_ that old Minbari saying was right, too. What a wonderful world it would be if all you had to do to make something happen was convince yourself that it would.

She hardly dared believe her ears when they picked up the same screaming noise. It was coming from the wrong direction, that was one reason to discredit it as a wistful fantasy right there. But Marcus's head jerked up towards the noise and Susan felt herself smile broadly.

"You see?" he laughed, jumping to his feet. "The universe will follow! It's coming back."

"No," she corrected slowly, joining him on the river bank, her eyes glued to the sky, "it's another ship."

It was. It was larger and slower than the first, and it banked as it passed over their valley. Marcus and Susan waved frantically, yelling and calling after it. It settled down a ways away, disappearing beyond a few hills but still accessible. It had seen them.

Brimming with joy, excitement, and a trillion other emotions, they made short work of packing their few possessions into a makeshift bag and leaving camp. They half-ran the distance to the jungle, then carefully picked their way along the bank, avoiding both the dense trees and the water. At last, they rounded a corner and the ship came into view.

It was a round, bulbous sort of thing, not elegant and probably not designed for extensive atmospheric manoeuvring. Waves of heat still rose from the engines, but the loading ramp was down and a group of aliens was clustered around the bottom. They wore robes and carried traditional-looking spears, though several had sturdy rifles slung over their shoulders.

Nearly at the edge of the forest, Susan stopped short and caught Marcus's wrist, pulling him with her behind a bush to observe without been seen. "I don't recognize their species," she murmured. "Or the ship. The first one was Drazi, but…"

Marcus nodded. "But this one certainly isn't. Odd… the general configuration is a bit Vree, but I don't recognize those markings there."

A chill ran up Susan's spine. "Assuming the first ship also belonged to their group, they have a mismatched fleet, which means they're probably not government-issue."

"And from the look of those robes and rather pointy sticks they've got, my guess would be that they're not exactly atheists, either."

"I don't know about you," Susan muttered, "but I'm getting a _really_ bad feeling about this."

He grimaced slightly. "They don't look too happy. Suppose this is a sacred planet or something?"

"Why would anyone make _this_ planet sacred?" she grumbled, shifting the branches to get a better view.

He caught her hand. "Oh, various reasons I'm sure, but for now I really think we ought to go unnoticed." She held still, peering through the leaves as the party of aliens surveyed their surroundings. "Somehow, I don't think they stopped in for a nice friendly chat."

Susan agreed, but her mind was already racing ahead. Approaching the group was out of the question. Not only did they probably not speak Interlac, but they were armed and most likely hostile. Not a good combination, and especially not when Susan herself was neither armed nor well-nourished enough to even think about getting anywhere hand-to-hand. That ship, though, was their chance to finally get off-planet. She was not about to pass it up.

"So we steal the ship."

Marcus looked over at her. "What?"

"We steal it," she repeated, her attention still focussed on the group. It wouldn't be hard; the aliens would leave to scout out the area and then all they had to do was cross the clearing and take care of anyone that might be left inside.

"That's a bit rash, don't you think? What about them? They'll be stranded."

"They have more ships," Susan shrugged. "Someone will pick them up." He didn't reply and she turned impatient eyes on him. "Marcus. We can't _not_ take it. We have to get off this planet. They need us back home – who knows what's happened while we've been stuck here? The Shadows could've made their move, the Centauri could've done whatever it is they're trying to do. This is our chance!"

"I won't leave them here to die," he hissed.

"_We_'re alive, aren't we?" she returned. "Why would they die? Look at them – they're even better suited to deserts than us."

"I won't leave them."

Susan's patience was quickly wearing thin. "Marcus, _think_ about this. There is a ship. It's right there. It's not guarded. It's our _only way off-planet_. We'd be crazy not to take it!"

"I won't."

"Fine." She looked back at the clearing. They aliens were moving off, following one who was scattering some sort of powder. Susan got to her feet. "I'll leave without you."

"Susan!" he snatched her wrist. "That's absurd! We can't—" He broke off as the piercing whine of another engine burst into hearing. A ship, the same type as the one already there, settled down on the far side of the clearing.

Susan grinned. "There. Someone to pick them up. Let's go." And she dashed across to the waiting ramp.

* * *

Inside, the ship was cramped and full of hard, sharp surfaces. The corridors were clearly meant for zero-g manoeuvring, and ladders separated the two decks. A crewman turned as they climbed through a hatch into a larger room filled with glowing consoles. He made an odd clicking hiss, scaled cheeks flaring in surprise, and reached for a gun. Marcus leapt forward, slamming the reptilian head into the bulkhead. The alien slumped, and Marcus pulled him out of his chair and off the command deck. "I'll leave our friend here outside," he said. "See if you can make any sense of the controls."

_Right,_ Susan thought, looking down at what appeared to be the pilot console. It was a mass of unfamiliar symbols and metres. She took a deep breath. _Start with basics. Yaw, pitch, roll._

It took her a moment, but at last she came across something that looked like the throttle. Next to it were three other touch-meters, each in a different colour. All, including the largest one she'd decided was definitely throttle, were at zero. Experimentally, she slid two fingers up the throttle and the ship thrummed to life. She felt herself pressed down slightly, the old sensation of acceleration tugging on her arms. A loud curse echoed up from the lower deck and she winced – she hadn't retracted the ramp, and Marcus was still down there. She lowered the engines and felt them begin to fall. Swearing under her breath, she brought them back up until the display that she hoped was altitude held steady. Then, her heart hammering, she scrambled off the flight deck.

She missed a step on the ladder and tumbled down to the corridor below, banging an elbow and a chin on the way down and landing hard on her knees. Wind churned around her, pulling her towards the open ramp. Marcus was nowhere in sight. _Oh god oh god—_

She crawled forward as fast as she could, grabbing handholds to keep from slipping. "Marcus!" she cried, "_Marcus!_" _Please answer. Don't have fallen. Not you, not now. It's not fair, it's not fair…_

"Susan!"

There. Two hands were clinging to the end of the ramp. She surged forward, hesitating only an instant at the edge of the ship's relative protection. She stepped carefully, crouching with her weight backwards. Wind pushed at her, threatening to knock her off and into the sky, but she kept onwards. "Hold on!" she yelled, feeling her voice ripped away by the wind. She could see ground on either side of the ramp now, but it was plummeting away at a terrifyingly fast pace. _Not the altitude meter then…_ she noted dimly. She was finding it harder and harder to breathe—the air was getting thinner. They were climbing too fast—they'd reach space before they could get back inside—

No. She would make it. She had to.

Throwing her caution quite literally to the wind, she crawled the rest of the way down the ramp and grabbed Marcus's wrists. He looked up at her, face strained with the effort of holding on while his body swung dangerously below. The faraway ground was a brownish blur, but a silver dot was quickly growing larger. The other ship. _Hurry_.

She hauled on his arms, heaving him up over the edge. He grabbed at the ridged metal and pulled, at last managing to get his legs up. "Just for future reference," he gasped, "it might be nice to wait until I'm _inside_ the ship before we take off."

"Shut up," she snapped breathlessly, pulling him towards the ship. "Hurry."

Her lungs burned as they finally made it to the belly of the vessel. Susan slammed her fist into the large green button labelled with an image of a closing ramp and the stupid thing shut at last. Air vents hissed as the hallway refilled with oxygen. Susan gave herself a heartbeat to catch her breath before she was scrambling back up the ladder to the command deck.

An irate alien face on the comm screen was barking at her, probably demanding to know why they'd taken off ahead of schedule. Susan gave him a semi-apologetic shrug and switched off the channel, strapping herself into the pilot chair. The consoles were showing her a wide range of rapidly changing and totally incomprehensible characters, a huge wealth of information that was entirely useless. She flipped a switch with a glowing rectangle on it, hoping for the viewscreen to open. Nothing. She flipped another and the ship lurched. Hastily, she flipped it back.

Third time was the charm and the large metal plates on the bulkhead in front of her slid apart with a loud whir, revealing a thick and not particularly transparent pane of duraglass. It was blurred and covered in pockmarks and cracks, but it afforded her a view of a dark sky dotted with stars. A radar screen below showed a small 'friendly' approaching from behind, and several larger 'friendlies' up ahead. Beyond them was a jumpgate. Susan's heart nearly melted on the spot.

She slid the pitch and yaw bars around, setting them on a direct course for the jumpgate, and opened the rear engines to full. The blinking dots on the radar drew nearer and nearer, while the one behind them dropped off. On the viewscreen, she could make out several silvery blips already bigger than stars and growing larger with alarming speed. Their weapons signatures read loud and clear, even in a foreign language, and Susan shut the throttle off. Better to go by like so much space trash, drifting without engines running. It would attract less attention, and since she was still trying to figure out how to move, shooting back at things shooting at her was not high on Susan's list of good ideas.

She held her breath as they passed the ships, and as their radar dots faded into the distance she sent out the jumpgate activation sequence. It was simple enough to find, a key with an image of a jumpgate on it, and the thing sparked to life in the distance, a golden tunnel opening before her. They shot into it and Susan felt the familiar turbulence as they crossed the threshold. Quickly, she gave the computer the coordinates vocally and received a reassuring affirmative beep in reply. _At least it speaks Interlac._

Breathing deeply to steady her nerves, she did her best to check over the ship's systems. For all she could tell, they were in autopilot, soaring through the mottled red of hyperspace towards home. What looked like the environmental controls were entirely blue, which was hopefully positive. The air was breathable, if a little stale, and she moved onto the engine status. It was also blue, a series of turquoisey marine rectangles that pulsed in unison. All green, so to speak.

Nodding to herself in satisfaction, she unbuckled the safety straps and floated disconcertingly out of the chair. Zero-g situations were generally a thing of the past, and so training for them had been brief and a _long_ time ago. She had to take a moment to quell the distinct nausea that welled up in her stomach. Opening her eyes again, she found the wall with her feet and kicked off, sending herself flying roughly towards the ladder. She caught herself awkwardly on the edge of the hatch, her hands slipping and sending her tumbling downwards. Too late, she saw the dark head coming up from below.

Swearing loudly, she hauled herself up by the rungs of the ladder and sailed backwards, clutching her head. She hit the ceiling with a thud and finally managed to get a grip on a handrail, stopping herself. "God dammit!" she swore, shaking her throbbing head to clear it. "I was coming to see if you were alright, but I guess you are."

"I _was_," Marcus retorted from the bottom of the ladder, holding his own head.

"Sorry," she groaned, leaning back against the bulkhead. A small laugh escaped her, one that quickly bubbled into another. Before she knew it or could really understand what was so funny, she was positively roaring. Marcus joined her, wiping tears from his dirt-smeared face. "We're f—finally going h—home," she gasped, doubled over. "Home."

"D'you think they'll have a—a party for us?" Marcus wheezed, coughing slightly as he struggled to catch his breath. Another fit of laughter seized them both.

"A party?" she echoed. "Sheridan? Are you… kidding? He'll buy me drinks… for a _month_!"

"Buy _you_ alcohol? The man's… a lunatic. You'll drink him… to bankruptcy!"

She gave him the most threatening look she could summon, which of course made them both burst back into uncontrollable laughter. "And then I'll h—have to bail him out. Gotta be better… than whatever Delenn'll do for you. Let me guess, robes and c—candles and all-nighters of prayer and th—thanksgiving?"

"Something like that. Care to join?"

She snorted. "Sure, why not? Sure as hell beats another day on that planet."

He could only nod.

* * *

They were two days from Babylon 5, by Marcus's estimate, a long time to spend on a cramped ship with little to do, especially after having free reign of an entire planet—wasteland or no. They occupied themselves by using what amenities the vessel had to their max. Disappointingly, the food was nearly inedible and the beds were not much more than sparsely cushioned pods on the wall, but there the air was cool and the water that flowed from tubes in the tiny mess hall was even colder. For once, there was no sun, no oppressive dry heat, no constant threat of starvation.

They slept, mostly, recovering hours upon hours of sleep they'd hardly realized they'd missed. As they drew near the station, Susan found herself reverting back to habits she thought she'd repressed. She avoided Marcus as much as she could, trying to sidestep the issue of just what exactly had happened between them back on the planet. They could go back to their old lives.

They _would_ go back to their old lives. Of course they would. No questions asked. Everything would return to normal.

At last, at the end of the blue tunnel, the station loomed into view, and she found herself almost dreading it. What had changed since they'd been gone? They had to have been presumed dead long ago – how would everyone react when they suddenly walked back into the land of the living?

The comm buzzed and Susan's hand shook as she reached for it. A face appeared on the screen, a tired-looking young man in an EarthForce uniform. A lieutenant's stripe glinted on his chest, and his eyes stared blankly into Susan's. _"Unknown vessel, identify—"_

"Corwin?" Susan blinked hard. Her voice was choked. Marcus, floating behind her chair, squeezed her shoulder.

"Commander?" Corwin's eyes narrowed. "Oh my god. Commander Ivanova?" He looked over his shoulder at someone off screen. "Get the captain! Quick!" Turning back to the camera, he stared in astonishment at Susan. "How…?"

She hardly heard him. In the background, the door to Command and Control was sliding open and a man in black came running through. A moment later, the weary-looking but fresh face of Captain John J. Sheridan was gaping at her in absolute awe. "Susan."

"Captain," she replied, swallowing around the lump in her throat. "Permission to come aboard?"

His mouth opened, curved into that bewildered grin of his, and then formed the long-awaited reply of "Granted."


	7. Chapter 7

It was a relief to have gravity back, though it took Susan's stomach several long moments to settle back into place. Even as she gathered the few things they'd brought with them from the planet and climbed carefully down the ladder, her head was swimming. To her credit, Marcus wasn't doing a whole lot better. As the ramp lowered, they stood with wide stances, supporting both their dizziness and their emotions.

The ramp hit the deck with an echoing thud. Susan stared at the silver metal for a moment, pushed the twisting anxiety into a far off corner of her gut, and stepped forward. The plating was cool beneath her bare feet, and the air was fresh and acutely familiar. There was a fair crowd assembled, a mix of uniforms and civilians. The EarthForce blues stood in ranks behind three men in black, and snapped crisply to attention as the centre man stepped forward.

The man's arm snapped up to his forehead, wrist ramrod straight and fingers sharp. Susan stopped. Synapses churned, slow to find the way back to old habits, and then her own arm mirrored his. Her chin lifted an inch, her hold on her emotions slipping dangerously, and the salute faltered.

"Captain," she said, as evenly as she possibly could.

"Commander," he returned.

Formality vanished as the grin spread across his face. She felt her knees fail and he caught her up in a crushing hug before she could hit the ground. He held her tightly, laughing into her shoulder.

"God," he said, "You _stink_."

Her fingers closed on the sturdy fabric of his uniform and she felt her own face split into a smile. Desperate relief flooded through her, and she was glad he kept an arm around her as he pulled away or she would've gone straight to the deck. She could sense Marcus beside her rather than see him as they faced the audience. Slowly, applause rippled over the crowd, growing rapidly into whistles and cheers. Garibaldi slapped her happily on the back and Stephen hugged her, then grasped both her and Marcus firmly by the wrists and marched them straight to Medbay, ignoring the others' complaints.

For once, neither protested the lengthy poking and prodding they received. There were, they'd quickly decided, advantages to _all_ aspects of civilization, not the least of which were new clothes—even if they were only hospital gowns—and a shower. Susan's uniform had been ripped and torn, worn to the point of nearly failing to preserve even her modesty. Tattered trousers were all that remained of Marcus' robes. And, of course, the shower.

The _shower_.

Susan had flat-out refused to let Stephen anywhere near her with an instrument of any kind until she'd had at least half an hour to wash. Marcus had just shrugged and ducked nimbly into the stall next to hers before Stephen could stop him. The standard medical shampoo smelt heavenly and the soap peeled back layers of dirt they hadn't known they had. Twigs and leaves littered the tiled floor of the stalls, and sand formed a gritty layer beneath their feet. Considerably more than half an hour later, feeling decidedly more human, they had called out for towels and submitted at last to Stephen's examination.

She wasn't usually a particularly modest individual, but Susan was finding the idea of standing naked in front of any medtech, even as trusted a friend as Stephen, decidedly unappealing. If she rationalized it, she would probably come to the conclusion that it had something to do with having been stranded with only one person for so long, and the isolation doing yaddayaddayadda to her brain. She was in for some long hours of counselling, oh yes she was.

On the bright side, though, she'd been brought into a curtained-off room, out of sight of Marcus. It was something of a relief; things had been tense during the flight and they hadn't improved upon arrival home. If anything, they'd gotten worse.

Stephen stepping into the small enclosure brought her out of her reverie. She was seated on the bed, holding her medical gown closed with one hand and idly trying to coax some order into her still-wet hair with the other. He gave her a smile and picked up a scanner from its tray. "Lie back."

She did. He passed the device over her several times, going back and forth from his computer to tap a few buttons and then scanning again. "Everything looks fine inside," he told her, "Aside from the obvious malnourishment. Could you stand up? I'll do a quick check up."

She sat up and swung her legs off the side of the bed. "Wouldn't the scanner show if there was something wrong?"

"Mostly," Stephen admitted, "but it never hurts to do an old-fashioned physical." He paused in his motion of retrieving an instrument from a drawer to look her sharply in the eye. "Does it?"

"Does it what?" she asked evasively.

"Bother you." He set the tool aside and watched her closely.

"No, of course not," she snapped, but her hand stayed traitorously clenched on the opening of her gown. She lowered her gaze. "I don't know why." She summoned a chuckle and nodded towards the threadbare bundle of her old uniform, "After wearing clothes like those for months you'd think I'd be okay with it."

"It could be an after-effect of the isolation," he mused, unconsciously mirroring her earlier thoughts. He shrugged.

She took a deep breath and unclamped her fingers from the gown. He gave her a quick smile and set about his business, starting at the top of her head and working down. What he expected to find up there was beyond her, but she felt herself relaxing slowly as he poked about professionally.

He paused at her wrist, peering at it curiously. "What happened here?" he asked, tracing the neat semi-circle of scar tissue.

She cleared her throat, a little embarrassed. "A um… a fish."

"A fish," he echoed, brows raised. "And down on your leg?" He crouched for a better look at the similar—though larger—marks on her calf.

"A big fish?" She shook her head and laughed slightly. "I swear, those were the most disgusting things I have ever seen. Somewhere between a rat and a lamprey; trust me, you do _not_ want to know."

"I bet I don't," he agreed vaguely, still peering at the scars on her leg. "It healed pretty well, though. Did you dress it yourself?"

"Marcus did." She felt a little grateful pang for that, and for everything else he'd done for her, and quickly suppressed it.

Stephen made a little _hnh_ noise and finished up his examination. "Well, looks alright. Malnourished, but otherwise healthy, and the scans turned up clean; you're good to go. I got a new uniform brought for you – you can have it if you promise to take the pills I'm prescribing you, too." She rolled her eyes at him. "Don't give me that look, Susan," he said good-naturedly, pulling the curtain back, "They're just vitamins." He eyed her bony frame pointedly. "And you can't tell me you don't need them."

She was half-tempted to protest further, but it was largely out of stubbornness now, and the idea of a proper meal was getting awfully appealing. "Fine," she shrugged, picking up the folded pile of black cloth and the small bottles resting on top of it. "I can go?"

He nodded. "Just so long as you're back within the hour."

"Right. Now can I go get dressed?"

"Susan, I'm serious," he warned. "Your body's been through a lot. Readjusting to civilization is going to be another shock."

"Alright, alright. I _promise_ to come back. Okay?"

"Okay." He smiled. "Now go get changed. I think the captain wants to see you as soon as possible."

He did. Once she'd managed to find all the buttons and doohickeys of the once-familiar uniform and hopefully pulled them together well enough that they'd hold, she headed for C and C. The door hissed open and she paused for a moment, taking in the scene, and then strode forward. She came up behind Corwin at the comm and set a hand on his shoulder.

He jumped and spun around. "Commander!" he exclaimed, face splitting into a grin. "How're you feeling?"

"Pretty good," she replied honestly. "Listen, have you seen the captain? Franklin said he wanted to see me."

"I bet he does," Corwin said emphatically, still grinning. "He's in his office, I think."

"Thanks," she said, already heading for the exit. Turning back at the door, she called, "And I'll be expecting a full report on everything that's happened while I've been gone. _Everything_, lieutenant! Tomorrow morning, 0600 sharp."

He just grinned. "Yes, ma'am."

The captain was, indeed, in his office. She swept in briskly, coming to a hasty stop at the sight of him deep in conversation with Lennier. The Minbari saw her first and inclined his head in acknowledgement. The captain turned, following the aide's gaze.

Immediately, his face split into a wide grin. "Susan," he greeted her warmly, "Come in."

She found herself grinning right back and did as she was told. Lennier divided a bow between the two of them and slipped away with a polite murmur of appreciation at seeing her alive and well. Susan hardly heard him, her attention focussed solely on her old friend. He pulled her into a bear hug which she happily returned. Their reception in the docking bay had been intensely emotional; now was the time for relaxing.

Seated on the couch, an empty cup in hand, she watched him in anticipation as he retrieved a thermos from its shelf. He brought it over and dangled it teasingly before her. "Coffee?"

She very nearly drooled on the upholstery at the smell. Not trusting herself to open her mouth to speak, she mutely held up her cup. He chuckled and filled it right to the brim, setting the remainder on his desk and coming to join her on the couch. She raised her coffee to her lips and inhaled deeply, revelling in the scent, and then sipped reverently.

John laughed again and she looked up at him, miffed at being interrupted in her enjoyment of the steaming beverage. "What?" she demanded, taking another sip.

"You," he replied, shaking his head. "You never cease to amaze me."

She arched an eyebrow over the rim of her cup. "You know I like coffee."

"Oh yes," he agreed heartily. "But really, three months? How did you _manage_? And that ship? It's ancient; no one I've talked to has seen one like it for years. Where the hell did you get it?"

She swallowed her mouthful and went for another, not feeling particularly like rehashing the details of the misadventure. "Isn't there going to be a debriefing or something?"

"Well, sure," he said. He paused a moment, looking her over as she polished off the rest of her coffee. "More?"

She offered her cup again and he reached for the thermos. The mahogany stream dwindled just above the mug's halfway point and Susan pursed her lips slightly in disappointment. He looked vaguely sheepish as he returned the container to the desk. "Stephen's gonna have my head for this."

"I won't tell," she vowed fervently.

"I take it he gave you a clean bill of health?"

She shrugged. "Pretty much. Said I was malnourished and all that, but otherwise fine. Some scrapes and bruises." She nearly flushed at the memory of where some of those might've come from, particularly on her back. "You know, the usual. Nothing serious."

"That's good," he smiled. Gesturing at her rank bar, he commented, "I see you kept that."

She glanced down, fingers brushing over the tarnished metal unconsciously. "I didn't really mean to," she admitted. It was true; she could hardly remember sticking the small strip into the first aid bundle for safe-keeping.

Sheridan cleared his throat. "I uh, have another one if you want it. That one's looking a little the worse for wear." He held out a small box.

She took it and opened it, looking briefly at the shining metal within. It was new and clean, entirely perfect. Smiling faintly, she shut the lid, her hand brushing again over the bar on her chest. "I think I like this one."

He watched her with an odd expression, then shook his head and grinned ruefully. "You're either immortal or damn lucky, you know that?"

She laughed. "Lucky isn't exactly the word I'd use for those three months," she said lightly.

"Immortal it is, then." He stood and offered her a hand up. She ignored it, stubbornly suppressing the small wave of dizziness that came with standing suddenly. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and glanced at his boots, looking dangerously sheepish.

"What?" she demanded.

"Your quarters." He grimaced. "And your stuff…"

Her eyes widened. "You didn't."

"Space it?" He shook his head quickly, and she felt some measure of relief. "No. But we boxed it. And um… rented your quarters. You were gone a long time," he said defensively, "After the funeral it seemed a little ridiculous to keep them unoccupied."

"After the _funeral_?" she echoed, incredulous. "You _buried me_? Hell, I'm gone for three months and you've packed me up and fired an empty coffin into the sun for me? I mean, I know I get on your nerves from time to time, but…" She trailed off at his pained expression and the magnitude of what had gone on while she'd been missing hit her like a punch to the gut. She sank back down onto the couch. "You thought I was dead."

"We all did," he said. "Heck, we _knew_ you were dead. Your White Star was found a couple weeks after you went missing, or at least, what was left of it."

"What happened?" she asked abstractedly.

"It was blown to bits," he told her. "Not much evidence to go on, but the techs found traces of weapons' signatures. Conventional explosives, mostly. Some rock fragments. Probably a mine."

A mine. A _mine_ had destroyed her ship and stranded her for months. A goddamn mine had killed her entire crew and broken Marenn and—"Why didn't we pick it up on sensors?"

"Don't know. We didn't recognize the signature; it might've been some new type of explosive that our sensors haven't come across before." He paused, sighed slightly. "We searched the nearby system for lifepods but turned up empty. Where _were_ you?"

"_Hell_," she said miserably. "Some desert planet. Three moons, one green. A blue sun."

A chime interrupted whatever he was about to say. Sheridan raised his link to his mouth, "Sheridan, go."

"_Is Ivanova there?_" Franklin's voice.

"Yeah, right here."

"_Send her back to Medlab. You can talk later. For now, she needs food and rest, and she knows it. Franklin out._"

Susan looked up at John hopefully, but he shook his head. "You heard him. Get back there. The debriefing's in the morning, 0900 hours. I'll see you there."

She nodded, not particularly looking forward to going over everything that had happened on the planet, but knowing that come morning, it would be a welcome excuse to get out of Stephen's clutches. "0900 hours. Got it."

This time, she took the hand he offered.

* * *

Medlab 2 was food, and it was a bed, and it was the friendly company of Stephen and Michael and Marcus. Marcus, admittedly, she could have done without. The other two men kept sharing looks, as if there was something mischievous afoot, and Susan had a feeling it had something to do with whatever dynamic they were picking up between the _Planet Pair_, as they'd been nicknamed. Franklin evicted Garibaldi after supper and left himself shortly later. Susan found herself alone with Marcus for the first time since their return.

She shifted awkwardly on the edge of the bed, avoiding his gaze and conversation. Abruptly, she declared tiredness and flopped back onto the covers, eyes closed. To her annoyance, he didn't leave.

"Susan, it's seven thirty," he pointed out dryly. "I don't think you mentioned being tired once back on that planet, but now you are?"

"I was saving up," she grumbled, keeping her eyes stubbornly shut.

She heard a soft chuckle, and a moment later the bed sunk under an added weight. His warmth teased at her arm; he couldn't have been more than an inch away. She felt him shift and her eyes fluttered open automatically as his lips brushed over hers. "Marcus—" she said, voice suddenly tight.

"Sorry."

"You don't sound it," she muttered, sitting up.

"Likely because I'm not," he admitted shamelessly. "I won't let you shrink back into yourself just because we're home, Susan."

"What do you mean, shrink back into myself?" she echoed irritably. "I don't—"

"Don't you?" he interrupted flatly. She nearly spat back a 'don't I what' out of pure stubbornness, but he continued. "I'm not going to let you do it."

She shut her eyes briefly. "Marcus, it's not that. I've… learned, or whatever it was I needed to do. What I said back on that planet…" She glanced at the door. "Can we not have this conversation here?"

He followed her gaze. The small window in the door afforded the nurses buzzing about outside an ideal view of the room and its occupants. A microphone, mounted in the corner, listened discreetly. Marcus nodded slowly, opening his mouth to say more.

The door hissed open and he cut himself off, turning to face the intruding medtech. "Second supper?" Marcus inquired, brow quirked.

"If you can call it that," the younger man shrugged apologetically. "It's good for you, though. Doctor Franklin gave me strict orders to make sure you eat it."

He held out the tray and Marcus leaned over to take it. "Thanks."

"Enjoy," the tech said sceptically, obviously glad that he wasn't in their position, and slipped away through the door.

They did not enjoy it, but it was food, and in Susan's books, if it would get her back to her job sooner, it was worth a few rotted taste buds. Breakfast the next morning was of similar calibre, and the thought of the debriefing loomed heavily on her. On them both, probably, but Marcus had gone to his room to sleep and hadn't returned to eat with her. Just as well, really, she mused as they stepped into the war room, but it might've been a good idea to sketch out at least some idea of what they were going to say.

To start with, they hadn't even had a clue what had stranded them on the planet. Attack or meteoroid strike, there'd been no way to find out, and no way to retaliate if they had known, no way to defend themselves. As it was, they'd had enough on their hands with Marenn. When Marcus faltered as he recalled the details of her deterioration and consequent death, Susan spoke up to cover the gap. She saw Delenn touch a hand to his sleeve in small comfort.

Susan told what she remembered of the fish incident and Marcus filled in the spaces. They talked about making fishing hooks and eating cactus, about packing up their few belongings and making the long trek to the mountains. They mentioned the bird creature and didn't mention the emotional evening that had followed, or the events of early the next morning. They described the ships, and the aliens, and listed off the conclusions they'd drawn about them.

They recounted their crash, their stay, and their escape. They boxed it all, neatly tallied it off, and packed it away.

And then they sat down and were silent, and whether or not they would admit it, they were glad they hadn't gone through it all alone.


	8. Chapter 8

Susan Ivanova was tired. She wanted to sleep. Her bed was in the other room. Just seven steps away. Just seven status reports. _Just _twenty seven push-ups. Susan Ivanova was tired, she wanted to sleep, and she really, _really_, didn't want to work. But that bed might as well have been on the other side of the station.

Twenty four push-ups now. She muffled a groan and let her head drop, arms locked straight. With a deep breath, she hauled her head back up. Elbows bent, creaked, and collapsed. Slumped on the floor, she let the breath out in a long hiss. "Dammit."

Six. Six push-ups had reduced her to a trembling heap. Six where there had once been sixty, a hundred and sixty. _Dammit_.

Upon arrival, home had been a miracle. A paradise. She'd slept in a bed and eaten real food—as real as it could be on a station like this. Three weeks had passed. She was finally out of Stephen's observation; she'd healed as far as instruments were concerned but she was still _weak. _So weak.

The useless feeling that had settled on her when she'd first returned to work had yet to be shaken. The station had survived without her; it had even done well. Her staff were glad to have her back, and she knew she was still the best at what she did, but she couldn't get rid of the lingering impression that she wasn't _needed_.

She needed to be _needed_. If she wasn't, she wasn't useful, and she'd never been able to be useless. So, she'd dedicated herself like she never had before. She rose with her alarm, uncomplaining. She whipped her hair back, jogged to the gym, and woke herself up with a half hour run in with the punching bag. She jogged back to her quarters, pulled her hair down, and showered as if her water was rationed. Garibaldi she met on her way to the mess, and Sheridan as she waited in line with her tray. She ploughed through C and C, snatching documents and accords from wherever she could find them, and slapping wayward transport captains back into line. She stayed past the end of her shift unchallenged by the young lieutenant supposed to relieve her, and at last headed home with more paperwork tucked under her arm. She ate what Stephen told her to eat, and scribbled signatures with her free hand. She paused to save her wrist from cramps and instead counted five crunches on the floor. Back to the paper. Five crunches, back to paper. Finally, the paperwork either done or her boredom outweighing her will, she set about the last sixty: twenty more crunches, thirty push-ups, and ten chin-ups.

Ideally. If she'd taken the moment to consider, she would've found a sort of sad irony in that a regime like that had become an ideal day. As it was, she hadn't, but the fact remained that ideals—like in politics—were seldom realized. And the fact remained that she _couldn't do it_.

She'd never been much of a believer in _I can't_. It was a matter of will, not physical ability. And so now, facedown on the rough carpet of her living room, she cursed herself for her weakness. _Get up, Ivanova,_ she sneered. _Don't be ridiculous. Get up._

She tried. Muscles clenched, in her arms and down her back, her legs; she rose. Halfway. Shaking, her arms collapsed, and she hit the carpet again. _Pathetic. Weak. _Once more, she pushed. She didn't move. Her arms felt leaden, swollen and stiff. _Useless_.

A cry of frustration made it through her lips and she kicked the ground with as much strength as she could find. _Goddammit Ivanova, _get up_._

She couldn't.

Swearing, she rolled onto her side, and from there, climbed to her feet. She swayed, light-headed from the sudden change, and leaned against the wall for support. Anger, shame, and most of all frustration rippled through her, and she had neither the energy nor the inclination to push them away. They followed her to her bed, and turned her precious few hours of sleep restless.

* * *

There was a long, crooked root protruding from the ground. Big enough to trip over, it could hold its ground against even the fiercest assaults. Needless to say, putting a scant bedroll over top of it did little if anything to improve its comfort value. Marcus grumbled inwardly, wondering why he'd ended up with the worst possible sleep site, and shifted onto his back. Somehow, he'd managed to get the root right along his spine. Wincing, he shifted again. Ah, respite. The root was just to the left now.

The others were silent and unmoving, either asleep or meditating. The two Minbari were seated, backs against trees, while the others had made the most of the hard ground. Their slow breaths were faint clouds in the night air; their bodies shielded from the chill only by their uniform robes. One, a young human, smiled dimly. They were going home tomorrow. The last day of the long ten was finished.

Even Marcus, well acquainted with situations like this by weeks in simulations and months in a reality, was glad to be heading out. It had been an assignment: not training this time, but teaching. Delenn had sought him out in his Brown Sector bar, cloaked as usual but without her faithful escort. He'd questioned, briefly, how she'd managed to leave Lennier behind, but then he'd picked out the concern in her expression and focussed on whatever she had to say.

She'd sat down across from him and smiled. Was he busy? She hoped she wasn't keeping him from his work. He'd assured her that she wasn't. Good, then she had a mission for him: take a troupe of young Rangers on survival training. He'd blinked, surprised, and reminded her that he wasn't much of an instructor. She'd smiled again and said she thought he could handle it. And then she'd left.

He'd blinked again and glanced around at the usual group of patrons. It was hardly a worrisome issue, training Rangers. Sure, it was important, and sure, they could be a handful, but it was hardly worthy of a Delenn worry-face. Maybe it was _survival training_, the kind that was really a situation exercise. Maybe it was something serious. But then, why not just send him alone?

She wasn't worried about the mission, he'd realized then with a grimace, she was worried about _him_.

It had been three weeks since they'd come home, since they'd finally gotten off that god-forsaken planet. And now Delenn wanted to send him to another, because she thought he wasn't integrating back into normal life well enough. From anyone else, he would've been sceptical of their logic.

And so now he was lying restless on top of what had to be one hell of a tree's root, by himself with a batch of trainees just past second prime. He wanted to go home. Maybe that was what Delenn had been going for. During those weeks he'd spent on the station, he'd felt out of place. They'd brought into a new Ranger to fill his place, and though the sting was lessened by Delenn's promise that it would never have been the same without him, he couldn't stop feeling like something of a third wheel. That the new Ranger was still on Babylon 5 didn't help, nor did having to share the station's business with him. They had to coordinate their efforts and pool their information, and while it was probably a good exercise in cooperation, Marcus would have _really_ preferred to be on his own. Sharing meant that he only had half his usual load, and that meant he had more time to think.

Thinking was something he'd tried hard not to do too much of since he'd gotten back. Once he started, he was likely to stray into memories and regrets, just as he always had. But now there were _happy_ memories in there. The stay on the planet had added them. Perhaps not happy—very few things about that planet had been happy, but certainly _good_. One set of memories in particular.

Susan. He stared up, between the scattered branches of the canopy above him, and was glad it was cloudy. He was systems away from her; there were more light years between them than either had lived. Looking up at the stars didn't let you forget that kind of a distance, especially when it wasn't going to be crossed any time soon. Of course, he reminded himself, he _was_ going to cross it soon. He was going home first thing tomorrow morning.

The metaphorical distance would be just the same. He hadn't seen her since their debriefing. She was avoiding him; on a station this small there was no other explanation. It hurt, more than his being replaced, but he thought he understood. He thought it might have even been for the best – for _her_ best. She needed time to settle back into her life, and that life had never held any special consideration for him.

But, for three long months, _she_ had.

* * *

Another gruelling day passed and slurred into two, three, four… Friday, at last – she absorbed some of the junior officers' excitement even if her own week had no ends. The day came to a close, and, dreading the punishment that awaited her at home, took a different route. One that brought her to Delenn's quarters.

With a slight shrug, she pressed the chime. She had hardly spoken to the Minbari ambassador outside of business since she'd returned. Of course, she wasn't here solely to chat, she had a trade accord that she needed to get her approval on. But it wouldn't hurt to stay a little longer than strictly necessary.

When the door opened, Delenn was dressed casually. She smiled kindly as she registered her visitor and immediately swept her arm back in invitation. "Please, commander, come in."

"I hope I'm not inter— Susan broke herself off as her view of the room widened. Captain Sheridan was seated at the counter, a glass of what was either water or vodka in his hand. Her mouth watered; she hadn't had vodka in weeks. But of course it was probably water. "Oh," she said belatedly. "I'm interrupting. Sorry. I'll go—"

"Stay," Delenn said warmly. Susan looked at her, dubious, but there was firmness behind those smiling eyes.

She shrugged helplessly. "If you insist."

"Sit," Sheridan instructed, pulling out a stool at the head of the counter. She sat, and Delenn slid gracefully onto another.

"I uh," she began, vaguely unsettled by the two pairs of intent eyes, "I have an accord I need your approval on, ambassador." She held it out and Delenn took it. "It's nothing huge, just a trade captain who wanted to know if you had any space aboard one or two of your ships for some of his wares. Air circulation parts, that sort of thing."

"Certainly," Delenn nodded. "I will speak with the merchant currently on station. Anything else?"

Again, Susan found herself confronted by their two gazes, and distinctly wanted to squirm. She didn't, but before she could stop herself, she asked, "Have you seen Marcus?"

_She _hadn't, not since their debriefing. Her fault, she knew it and she acknowledged it, but she hadn't done anything about it. Now it was out in the open. She cringed slightly. _Dammit_.

Sheridan, to her surprise, didn't smirk, and Delenn merely inclined her head. "I sent him on a mission," she said mildly, sipping what was definitely water.

"Oh," said Susan, stuffing disinterest into her voice and expression.

"I expect him back the day after tomorrow," Delenn added, a touch of a smile now curving her lips. Susan had a strong impression she was being tested, though for what she would rather not know. "I will tell him you asked."

"No!" She cleared her throat and amended, more calmly, "No, that's not necessary."

Delenn inclined her head again. Susan chanced a look at Sheridan. He had his glass to his mouth, but when she met his eyes he broke into a grin. She fixed him with a glare. "What?" she demanded defensively.

"Oh, nothing," he replied cheerfully.

"John," Delenn said, voice amused but edged, "Would you give us a moment?"

Chastised but still grinning, he stood and retreated to the other room. Delenn folded her hand in her lap and regarded Susan intently. "You have not spoken to him."

Susan's eyebrows shot up. "He _told_ you?"

Delenn smiled, "I guessed." Her smile faded a degree or two. "Why not?"

Susan looked down at the countertop. She didn't have an answer to that question, at least, not one she could give.

"Did you not… get along together on that planet? You gave the impression at the debriefing that you had become quite close."

Had they? Her stomach churned in alarm. "It's not—it's complicated." She paused, still unable to meet Delenn's eyes. There was something about the ambassador that made her want to tell her everything, to just pour her heart out and let her heal it. Looking at her was dangerous business.

"I have time," Delenn offered softly. "And I have had considerable experience with complicated things."

Susan tapped the counter with a fingernail. All the rational parts of her told her to walk away, go back to her quarters and do her work, while the rest wanted to seek some sort of comfort from this alien woman. There weren't even any consequences, really – she _knew_ anything she told Delenn would never go beyond the room. The rational side of her was tired and lacked appeal, and even it had to admit there was some practical value in talking to Delenn: it might sort herself out, let her finally get her mind back on track, so that she could work properly. It might even help get rid of the useless feeling. She was reluctant, but decided. She would talk to Delenn.

But what to say?

"I don't know," she said at length. Delenn waited patiently for her to continue. Susan shook her head, laughing humourlessly. "I don't know why I didn't talk to him. I haven't even seen him since the debriefing. It's me, my fault – I avoided him. I wanted to get back to work – I couldn't do that with him around. I just…" she fell silent for a moment. "I don't know what to say to him. It's funny, we _did_ get on well back there. I mean, we survived, didn't we? And that's gotta be something on a planet like that. But now it's different."

"Different?" Delenn prompted when Susan didn't continue.

"I don't know," she said helplessly. "Different. I have… responsibilities, we both do. There isn't time, or… I don't know what. There's just something – I can't do it."

She shook her head again, looking at a far wall. Delenn touched her hand and she brought her gaze back. She tried for a wry smile and ended up with a confused wobble. "You are afraid," Delenn said gently.

"No," Susan shook her head yet again, frowning. "Y—no. I'm not. I'm… dammit, I don't _know_ what I am."

Delenn smiled. That seemed to have been what she was waiting for. "You _are_. And we both know that is what matters to him."

* * *

Marcus returned to Babylon 5 alone. His Rangers had transferred to a freighter bound for one of their training colonies part way along the road, and he had travelled the rest aboard a small cargo ship. He disembarked like so much dead weight, dirty and tired from his assignment, and was glad no one had showed up to greet him. He said a short hello to the security guard on customs duty and then made a beeline for his quarters. A sonic shower, not much for comfort but just the thing for scrubbing away a week's grime, awaited him, and then bed. Food could wait for tomorrow, and it did.

Upon waking, he snatched up his cloak and headed straight out the door, forsaking his morning meditation. It would have been impossible anyway, he reminded himself to chase away the guilt that came with breaking one of his longest held traditions. It was one of the universal truths the masters had taught him: if you meditate on an empty stomach, you will only meditate on a full stomach.

He made his way to the Brown Sector market, perhaps not the safest place to eat but certainly the cheapest. Not half bad, either, if you knew where to go. As it were, Marcus knew where to go, and leaned his elbows on his destination's counter. "Hello, Leo."

The owner, manager, cook, and waiter was a portly fellow, ruddy-cheeked and bald. Dusting floury hands on his apron, he grinned and approached his customer. "Marcus! What'll it be?"

Marcus considered the plasticized menu for a moment, then looked up with false pensiveness. "The carbonara, with parmesan. Never been much of a gruyere person, you know."

Leo shrugged off the last remark. "I haven't seen you in a while," he commented, tapping the cash register.

"Not since that affair with Dralac, I'd imagine," said Marcus.

"Ah." Leo's fingers paused on the register. "Nasty business, that."

"Very nasty," Marcus agreed.

"Did I ever thank you for that?" His fingers, already clean, wiped themselves on his apron.

"Now that you mention it," Marcus mused, watching the man's motions with vague amusement, "I don't think you did."

"Oh. Well," said Leo, looking vaguely anxious, "I wouldn't want you to think I wasn't appreciative."

"No," Marcus agreed easily, "we wouldn't want that."

"Then Marcus, my friend, your carbonara's on the house." He reached across the counter to clap Marcus on the back. "Sound fair?"

"Absolutely," said Marcus.

The older man retreated to his kitchen and Marcus let his grin break through. Mean, perhaps, but just too easy. He really did owe him a free meal, though, at the very least. The Dralac affair had been nasty business indeed.

Twenty minutes later, a well-fed Marcus left the restaurant no more broke than he'd been upon entering hungry. He wandered the market for a while, checking in on his friends and contacts, then headed for Blue Sector. Delenn would be expecting him.

She was. She welcomed him in and congratulated him on completing his first excursion as instructor, then asked him how it had been. He told her, in few words: nothing out of the ordinary had happened, none of his students had done anything exceptionally stupid or brilliant. It had been survival training. A poor imitation of the real thing, but probably what had kept him and Susan alive.

In the lift back to Brown Sector, he was joined by Captain Sheridan. He smiled and bowed politely. The captain greeted him warmly. "Delenn tells me you were teaching survival training," he commented. "How'd it go?"

"We survived," Marcus replied lightly. "What else can we really ask for?"

Sheridan laughed as the doors slid open. "True," he agreed, stepping out. "See you around, Marcus. Oh!" He caught the doors as they hissed to close. "Ivanova was asking for you. Just so you know." And, with a grin that made Marcus wonder just what Susan could have been asking about, he vanished out of sight. With total disregard for its occupant's confusion, the lift chimed and resumed its course.

* * *

Susan had left Delenn's quarters feeling cleansed and decided, and had arrived at her own just as conflicted as she'd been that morning. She'd done her usual routine, then gone to bed and woken to do it again. For three days, she worked, and worked, and did her best not to think about Marcus or any of the things that went with him. She was wrapping up the fourth day now, on her way back from visiting a trader in the Zocalo before finally heading home.

The Brakiri in the lift with her stepped out. The smell of freshly cut grass wafted in through the open doors, and as they began to slide closed again, Susan hesitated. Quarters and paperwork? Or gardens and fresh air? She could even find a bench in the gardens and work there, if she really wanted to.

No contest, really.

She darted between the closing doors, just barely yanking her hand out of the way in time. Behind her, there was a small chuckle. She scowled, ready to give whoever _dared_ laugh at her hell, but was stopped short as the culprit's amused voice registered.

"Should I be concerned," Marcus was asking dryly, "or do you generally make a habit of escaping from turbolifts like that?"

She turned, slowly, and regarded him with a mixed expression. "It's a habit," she muttered vaguely, mind too occupied with taking in his appearance to remember to sound sarcastic.

He looked well. Honestly well – she'd long since learned to see through his masks. He was clean, his beard neatly trimmed and his hair combed, more than she could say for her own. He was smiling that persistent little half-smile of his, the one she'd always found annoyingly infectious, and his eyes were a bright, healthy green.

She found herself begrudging him for it. How could he fit so easily back into his life? She was still struggling, and she'd been on the station longer than he had, before _and_ after Hell. It wasn't fair.

"I've done something, haven't I?" He spoke, shifting slightly under her scrutiny, and startled her back to the present. "You're looking at me like I'm the next garbage pack out the airlock."

She blinked, frowning, and shook her head. "What? No. I was just—" _Just what? Staring? Marvelling at how absurdly good you look while I look like I just crawled through all the maintenance ducts in Grey Sector?_ She shook her head again. "Nevermind."

She said nothing more, and after a moment, Marcus spoke up again. "So where _are_ you off to, that you couldn't wait for the doors to reopen?"

She cleared her throat. "The Gardens."

His eyebrows rose. "Oh? I didn't figure you for the petal-gazing sort, but—"

"I'm not," she glowered. "I have some work to do. I just thought it might be more enjoyable to do it there." Delenn's voice flashing into her mind, she took a deep breath. "Join me?"

Marcus' brows climbed even higher. "Sure," he said as if he didn't quite dare believe his ears.

It was nearing 1900 hours, suppertime for most of the station's human community, and the Gardens were quiet. Marcus and Susan walked in silence, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. At length, she sank onto a bench and he sat down next to her, a short distance away.

"Nice evening," she commented blandly. The ease that had been between them on their planet was returning with alarming speed. She wasn't sure whether or not she wanted to fight it.

Marcus had been under the impression than in an artificially maintained environment, all evenings were equally nice, but replied obligingly, "Quite." There was another moment's silence, and then he looked over at her. "how are you, Susan?"

"Fine."

He smiled. "Me too. I'm fine. And just what _is_ 'fine', anyway? It's certainly not 'good'. No, 'good's a whole other degree of automatic response, isn't it?"

She snorted softly. "I generally thought they were interchangeable."

"Ah, but you admit 'fine' doesn't mean anything." He was watching her intently. She stared at the plants. "So. How are you, Susan?"

"Wishing you'd stop asking me that," she replied, a bit irritably, then sighed. She hadn't invited him to bicker. "Look, Marcus. I wanted… I _want_ to apologize for avoiding you. I don't know why I—" She broke off with a humourless laugh. "No, that's not true either. Dammit… I just can't say it, can I?" She looked at him with a mixture of frustration and sheepishness.

He offered her a smile. "Say what?"

She breathed deeply to settle herself, glanced quickly around to make sure they were alone, and shifted on the bench. Before he had a chance to realize what she was doing, she'd caught his face between her hands and stretched across to kiss him.

It was over before it could begin. She pulled away, sat back down, and didn't look at him. "That," she said.

Surprised didn't quite cover it. Marcus took a moment to recover his thoughts enough to speak, then commented, "Next time you have something you can't figure out how to say, you know where to find me."

"That's just it," she said suddenly after a moment's pause. "Where are we going with this? With us? _Is_ there an us?" She ran her hands over her face. "I'm so unsure of everything, it's driving me nuts."

"I like nuts," Marcus said absently, mind busy but not busy enough to miss the glare she shot him. "Sorry. Though, if you're looking for my opinion, which I assume you are since you—right. I'd say why can't there be an us? There was back on that planet, of a sort. Worked well enough."

"I know," she winced. "But things are different here."

"How so? Aside from the obvious space station and general civilization."

"I have responsibilities." It was the same thing she'd said to Delenn, but it was true. "So do you. And we have to work together. Lives depend on us carrying out those responsibilities."

"And being in a relationship causes problems where? That is what we're talking about here, you know; a relationship."

"I know," she snapped. "What else? It causes problems in that—in that it's awkward! That for starters, and then what if one of us was in a position that required them to risk the other's life? You know that kind of decision has to be made instantly. If it was you or, I don't know what, a Starfury, I'd—" she hesitated, then continued in a lower voice, not meeting his eyes. "I'd choose you. _Every time_, Marcus. I couldn't live with myself if I let something happen to you, not while it was in my power to stop. But I…"

"You couldn't live with yourself if you did stop it," he completed. Tentatively, he reached for her hand. "I know."

She looked up at him hopefully. "Then you understand."

"In a way," he said slowly, "yes. But even if we don't have an _us_, I could never let anything happen to you. Letting _us_ be doesn't change anything. Not for me, anyhow. And if you ask me, it'd be a lot less awkward than dancing around each other."

"It would be like it used to be," she pointed out. "It wasn't awkward, it was annoying." She grinned a bit feebly, "Half joking."

He laughed, "Yes, I did get that impression."

"So why didn't you stop?" she asked, half-seriously.

"I could tell you liked it," he replied lightly. "You know, secretly."

She shook her head, smiling despite herself. "You couldn't just give up on me as hopeless—" She bit off her sentence, realizing exactly where this was going. "Forget it, never mind."

"You don't know?"

"No, I—"

"Of course I couldn't _give up_ on you. I—"

"Marcus, _please_—"

"—love you, Susan."

"—don't…" she choked.

He winced slightly. "Too late."

Head turned away while she wrestled with her emotions, she murmured, "Apparently."

It was out there, spoken at last. Somehow, it seemed all the more real. Susan shut her eyes, fighting uselessly with the reflexive panic rising in her chest. _Screw Delenn, I can't do this._

Abruptly, she stood, abandoning her papers to flutter to the ground. Without a glance back, she fled the Gardens and went straight for the security of her quarters.

Somehow, he made it there first. He was waiting outside, looking pleasantly fresh as if he'd just been on a stroll and decided to drop by. Trapped and nearing desperation, she tried for normalcy. "You know, you really should show me your route sometime. I really should know—"

"Susan, I'm—"

"Don't call me that," she snapped, swiping hastily at her face.

"I'm sorry," he finished, undeterred.

"For what?" she muttered, her tone leaving no place for an answer. She pushed past him and opened the door to her quarters, letting him in after her. For a moment, she stood with her back to him, and he saw her shoulders rise with a deep breath. Her hands on her hips, she turned to face him. "No. It's me. It's always me. I screw it up, every time. Dammit…"

Tentatively, he reached towards her and she squeezed her eyes shut. A tear managed to find an escape and she wiped it viciously away. "Sorry," she said, looking embarrassed.

"Don't be," he returned immediately.

She shook her head, stepping back enough to lose his hand on her arm. "I just… I want this, Marcus," she blurted, "I want it more than I can say and it—" She was visibly fighting with herself. He swore, if he ever had the chance to undo whatever had made this sort of thing so hard for her, he would, no matter what it took.

She caught her breath sharply. "I think this was a bad idea," she said, voice uneven. "Can we just—can we just pretend this never happened?"

He stared at her in awe. "Pretend what never happened? This conversation? Or everything that happened back on that planet?" He moved towards her, but stopped when she flinched away. "That was three months of my life, Susan. Three months of your life, too, actually. You can't erase it. You shouldn't want to."

"I _don't_ want to!" she cried. "I want to go back! Dammit, Marcus, I don't fit here anymore! I'm useless, and you don't seem to have noticed but you are too! They replaced us. Hell, they _buried_ us!" She paused for air, seeming a bit surprised by her own outburst. "I want to be here. I know," she held up a hand, "I just said I want to go back. Don't stop me now or swear to god, I'll never start again.

"I don't know what I want. Maybe that's what's wrong. I want to be _commander_ again, I want them to respect me like they used to. And I want _you_. But I can't, can't have all of it. I don't even know if I can have any of it. Back on that planet, it didn't matter, because I _couldn't_ have anything." She let her breath out in a long whoosh, and added in a whisper, "Except you."

For once, he honestly didn't know what to say. Just as confused as she was, he wanted to comfort her, take her in his arms and tell her she _could_ have everything – he'd get it for her – but he knew that in doing just that, he'd be ruining her chances of getting the respect she wanted, at least in her opinion. And it was her opinion that counted.

"And now you're wondering what the hell you're still doing here." She was watching him with a frail mask of casual indifference. She made a pass at a grin. "Don't worry, I'm not raving mad. You can go; I won't throw anything at you."

"That's well and good," he ventured, "But I'm not going anywhere. I hope you won't take it upon yourself to throw something if I do stay?"

A genuine smile spread across her mouth. She ducked her head briefly, then looked back up at him. "No, I think I'm safe."

"You _think_ you're safe?" he echoed, moving toward her. This time, she didn't flinch away. "That's funny, because I happen to _know_ you're safe." His arms slid around her shoulders, pulling her gently to him. "You always will be," he promised softly, mouth near her ear. "Always. With me. I'll never leave you."

She shivered slightly at the familiar words. "I know," she returned. "Told you I was stupid."

He pulled back a bit, mouth quirked. "Did you? I don't recall _that_."

She thumped his chest. "Quit it. You knew what I meant."

He shrugged, "Maybe. And you know what I mean by this…"

And then, without any other warning, he was kissing her. She didn't resist, letting her arms wind about his neck. Her mouth opened under a gentle urging, but she barely had time to taste him before he'd pulled away. She opened her eyes and frowned at him. "I'd know what you meant by it if you hadn't _stopped_," she grumbled.

He smiled. "I wasn't sure I'd get the chance to do that again," he admitted. "Even after that last morning."

She felt her cheeks heat up at the memory. "Yeah, well… I guess I didn't really help that one, did I? Avoiding you and all…" Her face clouded over. "I just didn't know what to say to you. I still don't think I really do. It's like I said, I don't know what I want." She glanced down, away from his eyes. "You deserve more than that, Marcus," she said softly.

"More?" He gaped at her. "More than you?"

She nodded, a tiny movement. "I can't offer you anything. I'm just… me. And that's not worth a whole lot right now."

"You are," he said slowly, still incredulous, "without doubt, absolutely the most confusing, confus_ed_, woman I have _ever_ met. Did you know that?"

She met his gaze again, cautiously. "I guessed?"

"Good," he said firmly. "Because you're also the most valuable. And beautiful, but I've already told you that."

"You did?" Her eyes widened in comprehension. "That wasn't really a Minbari greeting, was it?"

"Not quite," he acknowledged. "I thought you'd have forgotten about it by now, though."

She shrugged. "Eidetic memory."

His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really?"

She nodded, smiling despite herself. "Comes in handy."

He chuckled. "See? You're not worthless."

"Because my memory makes up for all the rest," she said dubiously.

"The rest of what? There's no rest to make up for, Susan."

"There's all the rest of everything I haven't gotten back yet," she pointed out. "I'm still useless."

"That's not true, and if you think I'm too biased, ask anyone else who works for you. They'll tell you exactly how much you're needed here."

"That's because they wouldn't dare—" She broke off, a slow smile spreading across her lips.

"Exactly," he agreed. "So I'm not quite sure what rest of you there is to make up for."

She chuckled a bit, somewhere between nervousness and self-deprecation. Could that really be all it had been? Just her not knowing where she stood with _him_? Had she been fitting in fine with her job all this time? She groaned aloud. "I did all that work for _nothing_." She pressed a hand to her forehead. "I'm an idiot."

"I love you anyway," he offered brightly.

She paused, regarding him for a moment, then laughed. "Thanks, Marcus."

"Anytime," he replied easily, swooping down again to catch her lips with his. Her arms wound themselves back around his neck and she grinned against his mouth. This wouldn't be so bad, she reflected distantly as she backed him in what she hoped was the general direction of the bedroom. In fact, she could get _very_ used to this. And whoever thought it made her weak could take a short walk out an airlock.

She didn't need them. She had him. She was strong for him, because of him, _with_ him. Together.

fin


End file.
